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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646969">all the king's horses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_ground/pseuds/faerie_ground'>faerie_ground</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kingsman (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Multi, Original Kingsman Characters - Freeform, but also not really its hard to explain, set after kingsman the golden circle, sort of a winter soldier au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:47:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_ground/pseuds/faerie_ground</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Rox,” Eggsy breathes. </p>
<p>Roxy raises her gun at him, and fires. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Or, how Eggsy Unwin gives saving the world a break, to save his best friend instead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gary "Eggsy" Unwin/Original Male Character(s), Harry Hart | Galahad &amp; Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Roxy Morton | Lancelot &amp; Gary "Eggsy" Unwin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a different way of writing Kingsman fic than I'm used to- for starters, no David Budd. I'm really, really sorry, but I wanted to try my hand at a solely Kingsman oriented fic based primarily on Eggsy's and Roxy's friendship, so here we are ig. also this is very, very much in canon or so with kingsman 2 which means that yes, merlin is very very dead. so is literally everyone else killed off in that movie except for roxy, obviously. </p>
<p>fancasts for the original characters in this story (I'll add more as I move along)</p>
<p>(new) Lancelot- Dev Patel<br/>Mordred- Richard Madden</p>
<p>tw for suicidal ideation, dissociation, graphic violence</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy’s always liked crowds. Crowds may be claustrophobic, shove in on you and get under your skin in the most unsettling way, bodies shoved up against every side and the sound of laughter and chatter grating, but they’re a mask. Excellent vantage points of disguise- they cover you up and turn you invisible, a fleeting moment in everyone else’s eye. You could do anything in a crowd, and no one would notice. Steal a purse, knee a bloke in the groin, drop a note in someone’s pocket- Eggsy sometimes fancies himself with the notion that a war can go on inside a crowd, and no one would be any the wiser. Eggsy’s the kind of man who likes to stand out, have all eyes on him at all times but he’s also at times the kind of man who wants to sink into the shadows, unseen. Two extremes constantly warring- definitely not fit for a Kingsman agent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been five minutes to midnight when he’d seen her. His phone had been buzzing away in his pocket- Harry, maybe, or Mordred yelling at him for his long overdue reports. He’d been idly walking forward, buffeted by the direction of the teeming crowd with his eyes fixed ahead on two teenage girls giggling when they’d parted, revealing her. Brown hair in a neat ponytail, decked out in a riding jacket and knee-high boots, a mole on the back of her neck that Eggsy still remembers comparing to his own. Eggsy would recognize her anyway. Half out of his mind, dissociating, his head dizzy and mind in a constant state of shifting duress, he’d still recognize her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rox,” Eggsy breathes. She turns her head to the side, as if in recognition, and then right on cue the world around them bursts into motion- everyone around them pushing, jostling at each other, the two teenage girls coming together again. He shoves forward, uncaring of how many beer cups he spills over, the angry and indignant shouts sliding off him like water as he tries to get to where Roxy had just been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rox!” Eggsy bellows. <em>“Rox!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets no response. He continues to push forward amidst the joyous laughter echoing all around him, a twisted symphony punching in time to the beat of his frantic, alert soul. Gone is the floatiness of earlier, replaced with a sudden, stark need to see Roxy- to know if it’s really her. Of course it is- Eggsy would know his own best friend from a mile off. His own best friend, who’d died two years ago as a result of a mistake committed by himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy finally catches sight of her again when the countdown starts. He shoves a couple apart, ignoring their frustrated <em>“Hey!”</em>s as yet again, a gaggle of kids part enough for a clearing to form, right in the middle of the square- revealing Roxy Morton, standing in the center of it.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Five!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A man wades into Eggsy’s path and Eggsy pushes him aside roughly, trying to make his way into the clearing. Roxy’s looking up at the sky, brown riding jacket in clear view. It’s the one she’d worn on the plane on the way to Valentine’s lair. It’s a bit tight around the shoulders now, because she’s changed- they all have.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Four!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rox!” Eggsy yells, desperate. She has to know him. She has to turn around, give her that tight lipped smile of his she always used to make when he’s been acting like a pillock and they both know it. She has to-</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Three!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roxy turns around, her eyes staring directly into his. Eggsy stops in his tracks, gazing back. Almond brown eyes, completely blank- not a sign of recognition, or of life even. Eggsy’s heart is in his throat and he thinks that he cannot swallow it down, even if he really wanted to. In that second, it’s as if no one exists- just Roxy in the clearing and Eggsy, trying to reach out to her.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Two!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A giggling teenager bumps into Eggsy from the side, breaking his line of sight. He curses, shoving them away before running full tilt, using his hands to make as straightforward a path for himself as possible. It’s no use- by the time he’s stumbled into the clearing, it’s empty. Roxy’s gone, just as quietly as she’d appeared.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“One!”</em>
</p>
<p>An explosion of yellow and red and pink in the sky, everyone around him cheering and suddenly it feels too much like V-day. Eggsy closes his eyes, the bursts of colour visible even behind his eyelids, and exhales, a still figure amidst the suddenly boisterous and cheerful crowd. The back of Roxy’s figure, her brown ponytail and that riding jacket stays engraved on the back of his eyelids, a stark hieroglyph.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The new Lancelot hates the fuck out of Eggsy, and vice versa.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy prides himself on being a genial agent. He may be suspicious of how everyone in Kingsman views him, looking at him with privilege addled eyes, but he’s also attempting to hold on to what little kindness he has left. He makes small talk with the kitchen staff, Mordred’s- Merlin’s replacement- assistants, and even those who man the distillery now. He’s a polite man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lancelot ruins everything about that with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second time he sees Roxy, therefore, of course has to be in front of Lancelot and in the local Costco’s. The aggravating thing about them- according to a much bereaved Harry, at least- is that even if they hate each other, they absolutely come from the same or pretty much similar roots. Lancelot comes from Peckham estate, a fierce defiance in his eyes as he punched out the first recruit who suggested he go back to his home country with a sneer. Eggsy comes from Rowley estate, growing up on only the skin of Dean’s fist colliding with his teeth. By all rights and purposes, they should get along, and yet they don’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lancelot snaps. Eggsy doesn’t know his actual name, and Lancelot’s never going to give it to him. “You are out of <em>your</em> area of town.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy rolls his eyes at that, bending down to pick a tomato off the aisle. “Shopping,” he states flatly. “That a crime now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lancelot’s in a white football hoodie and jeans, cap low over his forehead to hide a black eye. Arsenal- of course its fucking Arsenal. “No,” Lancelot says after a while. “It ain’t.” He reaches over and snags the orange Eggsy had been reaching for, making Eggsy scowl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stay out of my way,” Eggsy suggests, sugary-sweet, “and we won’t have any problems.” He snatches a net of apples, smirking at Lancelot’s outstretched fingers.</p>
<p>“I hope Budapest went well,” Lancelot says, and Eggsy flinches. Everyone knows how horrible Budapest went- a minute too late, and there would have been nothing of Eggsy to ship back home. It had been supposed to be a useless milk run too, Harry saying that there had been lightly drifting rumours of a new organization quietly taking out important people in power and asking Eggsy to check it out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck is your problem, you piece of-” and then he stops, staring at the flash of brown that’s just sped past two aisles, behind Lancelot. It couldn’t be, not again- he’d convinced himself it was a hallucination. Could it-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck is my what?” Lancelot demands, but Eggsy’s not listening. He sets his basket down not too gently, before taking off at a sprint. There, smack dab in the middle of the narrow space between all the aisles, he sees her again- Roxanne Morton, hair down and in what looks like a black leather jacket and smart pants this time round, staring at the snacks aisle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Roxy!” Eggsy yells. The shoppers turn around, looking at him like he’s gone off the rails. Maybe he has, screaming his head off at someone he’d seen die in a nuclear attack. Roxy doesn’t turn around. Instead, she steps into the aisle and disappears. Eggsy runs forward, yelling again. <em>“Roxy!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He steps into the aisle, and stares. It’s completely empty. Not a single shopper, no Roxy in sight. Eggsy pants as he stays stock still in one place, staring around him. Everything is as it is- all the packets in one place, innocuous and so, so wrong when Roxy had just been here a second ago, right on this very spot. He’d <em>seen </em>Roxy. Seen her in a black jacket and pants, hair down like she tends to leave it sometimes- <em>tended to, </em>that sensible voice in his head says. <em>Because Roxy is fucking dead. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck,” Lancelot pants from behind him and he turns. Lancelot’s bent over, hands braced on his knees as he blows a breath out, curls bobbing in front of his eyes while he glares at Eggsy. Behind him, the shoppers stare curiously into the aisle, as if to learn hidden secrets that are about to reveal themselves. “Are you <em>insane?</em> Like actually, clinically insane? What possessed you to do that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought I saw-” Eggsy starts, and then presses his lips tight together, drawing himself up firm. Lancelot thought low enough of him already, saw him as the dirt on the soles of his shoes. Just last week Harry had chosen to give the case of the missing MI6 agent to Lancelot instead, citing that Eggsy needed ‘rest’ or something equally ridiculous. Lancelot’s fast rising through the ranks and if Eggsy’s not careful he could overtake him, too- the most senior agent in Kingsman. Telling Lancelot the truth would be tantamount to giving him the ammunition to do just that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s an inkling of suspicion in Lancelot’s eyes as he stares down Eggsy, his height giving him a superior advantage. Lancelot’s lean in a way Eggsy will never be, cutting a sleek figure that he somehow manages to make intimidating even while wearing a stupid Arsenal themed hoodie and basketball shorts. “You should remember something, Galahad.” His codename is bitten out like a curse, an insult. Galahad, the purest of knights, Lancelot had drawled once to one of the techies, Eggsy within clear earshot, and yet the current agent who holds it has sullied it beyond belief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Spit it out,” Eggsy says tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. If he could get away with it, he’d punch Lancelot in the face and make a run for it. Lancelot certainly deserves it, the prick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The dead stay dead,” Lancelot says, blunt. His eyes are contemptuous, full of the disgust he clearly feels at Eggsy making it this far while apparently being this full of himself. With the words hanging in the air like a bullet wound he sweeps past Eggsy before Eggsy can think of a retort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Third time’s the charm- or so they say. The third time Eggsy catches sight of Roxy is also the time Eggsy fucks up the most.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s on a mission in Mumbai, the streets so swelteringly hot Eggsy’s ditched his jacket at the hotel room against Mordred’s advice, his shirt sticking to him. If he’d gone in his usual Kinsgman do he’d have stuck out like a sore thumb so he braves the outdoors in a button down shirt and khakis, also against Mordred’s advice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are these even bulletproof?” Mordred says accusingly over the comms link in Eggsy’s glasses. Eggsy can imagine him in his head, hair on end and icy blue eyes glaring at the monitor. “Honestly, Galahad-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t tell Arthur,” Eggsy says, feeling only slightly guilty. They’d found Mordred in the recruit trials for the position of Merlin, Mordred professing that he felt far more comfortable with another alias after learning of the legacy Merlin had left behind. It had been understandable and Eggsy had privately thought that if he could, he would probably ditch Galahad too. That’s not the only reason Mordred stands out to Eggsy amongst their newest additions- in more ways than one he’s the exact carbon copy of Merlin, the younger and hairier version of the late quartermaster. He snarks at Eggsy often, yelling at him to finish his reports or being so painfully dry with replies Eggsy feels quite literally transported to a different time. Sometimes Eggsy can’t stand having him in his ear, the memories growing far too painful to withstand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just get the drive, Galahad,” Mordred sighs, sounding much put upon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mission objective is simple- a ratty arms dealer with a drive full of important contacts and details has turned up in Mumbai, a rare occurrence. Eggsy’s tasked with nicking the drive before he goes underground again. In the wrong hands, Harry had explained, the drive would do far more harm than good- especially in the hands of an arms dealer looking to make as much profit as possible. “Just a random arms dealer?” Eggsy remembers asking, his own eyebrow arched.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s lips had thinned, at that. “A random one,” he’d said, the pause too long for the answer to ring true. Once, Eggsy had been his right-hand man. Eggsy had <em>helped </em>him rebuild Kingsman, digging up old army contacts to find people of the right fit for Kingsman. That had been how they’d found Mordred, a friend from the Marines telling him there was an ace hacker working for Scotland Yard. Now he’s lucky if Harry so much as tells him what his own missions are for. The smokescreen and secrecy has become galling, making Eggsy feel very much like that kid who’d been stuck in Holborn police station all those years ago, calling a number on a medal. He’d been trapped then, and he’s trapped now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The streets are packed just like that night in Trafalgar Square, bodies pressing in on him in much the same way, stumbling and jostling around. The sounds of flip flops claps against the floor, bracelets jingle around him and a soft, low tune permeates the air, melodious. Yet again it should be uncomfortable but somehow it isn’t. A little girl bumps into Eggsy’s side and giggles up at him, her smile infectious. He sends her a smile back, doing a little wave with her fingers that makes her babble something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look sharp, Galahad,” Mordred says, snapping him out of his reverie. “Target’s right ahead.” Sure enough the target’s conversing with someone, the view of whom is blocked by the growing crowd. Eggsy starts forward, and then stops dead in his tracks, his heart stopping. He recognizes who the target is conversing with, the sight hitting him dead in the face and making his brain go completely blank.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Galahad?” Mordred’s frown is clearly audible. “Galahad, what is the-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three things happen at once. Eggsy steps out into the open, his jaw open. The target looks back at him and takes off on a sprint, disappearing into the crowd. And the young woman in her mid-twenties that he’d been talking to turns on her heel and stares back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rox,” Eggsy breathes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roxy raises her gun at him, and fires.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy’s a fucking mess, in the aftermath of the destruction Poppy had caused. He constantly feels off-kilter, restless and angry, as if he’s not done hunting for vengeance yet. The burden of grief doesn’t let up from his chest, a constant reminder of all that he’s lost and lost and keeps losing day by day. It doesn’t let up when he gets married to Tilde, his smile trembling as the absence of a best man is felt. It doesn’t let up when he walks to the renovated Kingsman distillery, the shiny reflective walls unfamiliar and strange as Ginger and Tequila show him the ropes. It doesn’t let up when he attends the debrief for the Mumbai mission, arm in a sling to see Harry sit at the head of the table, expression on his face ten levels of furious and disappointed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re my best agent,” Harry tells him, eyebrows drawn together. He’s angry for a reason- Roxy had fired a single shot at him before fleeing, and Eggsy had been unable to give chase owing to the fact that that bullet had plowed right into the arm of the little girl that had bumped into him earlier that day. The Indian branch of Kingsman had to basically amnesia-spray the entire crowd of onlookers, and they hadn’t been pleased with it at all. Mordred even less so, treating Eggsy to a ten minute tirade about following orders until Eggsy had yanked his glasses off and broken them on purpose, irate. “You still are. What the hell is going on?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry swearing- that doesn’t happen often, only when he’s angry. Eggsy shrugs, keeping his gaze behind Harry. There are portraits of all the fallen Kingsmen, painted by hand because obviously Kingsman has the resources to hire a world renowned painter. Percival, Roxy and Merlin are among them, standing proud and tall. Eggsy’s seen Harry stop in front of the one that has Merlin, touch his fingers to his own lips before pressing it to Merlin’s drawn on ones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said Roxy on the recording,” Harry continues. He’s not angry now- he’s worried, the anxiety in his eyes stark and overwhelming. Eggsy wants angry Harry back- angry Harry he knows how to deal with. Not this version of Harry who looks at him like he’s been sick for days and isn’t getting better. “Eggsy- Roxy is gone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gone- such a tone of finality. Roxy is <em>gone. </em>The words scratch at Eggsy’s heart, leaving him sore. “No, she isn’t,” Eggsy says insistently. “I saw her. Thrice now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a long time, Harry stares at him. Eggsy knows what he sounds like- a complete loon, probably half off his rocker. “No, Eggsy,” he says gently. “She’s gone. She’s not coming back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have to talk to someone,” Harry says urgently, drawing his chair closer. Eggsy reflexively leans away, feeling a touch of betrayal. He’d known how Harry would react and yet the disbelief and misplaced worry in Harry’s expression makes him want to scream, beat his fists against the wall and run. “Eggsy, this isn’t you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Eggsy says, helpless. Misguided he may be, but Harry doesn’t deserve this- his fuck up of a recruit screwing everything up, embarrassing him in front of everyone. Eggsy’s seen the looks of everyone in conferences, all the new agents looking at him expectantly, as if they’d expected more from someone who’d brought down both Valentine and Poppy. Whispers follow him in corridors- <em>didn’t he take down Poppy? He got called in again. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry sighs again. “This is for your own good,” he says. “Take some time off. Go do some traveling. Meet with Igraine- she tells me you haven’t been to see her.” Igraine is their in-house counsellor who’d survived the attack. Her emails to Eggsy rot in his inbox, unanswered.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy doesn’t listen to the rest of his words, the first few sticking in his head like a band-aid that’s hard to peel off. He reels back, eyes widening in disbelief and fear. “Are you- <em>suspending </em>me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s lips tighten. “Eggsy-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I promise I’ll do better,” Eggsy says frantically, his heart thumping. He can’t be suspended, he can’t be taken off Kingsman grounds- what will he do? Where will he go? He’s nothing without Kingsman. Every other agent certainly seems to think so, their skeptical, suspicious looks following him around. “Harry, please-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eggsy, you are <em>unwell,”</em> Harry hisses, his eyes holding the sort of finality that fills Eggsy with dread. “You’ve been unwell, I think, for a long time. We need healthy agents as part of Kingsman.” Especially now, he means to say, in the aftermath of the deaths of half their fucking agency. Agents who see their dead best friend everywhere can’t be a part of Kingsman. Agents who fuck up mission after mission, who end up in Trafalgar Square with no memory of how, who avoid therapy sessions like a fucking child can’t have any place in the upstanding, proper posh agency that is Kingsman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine,” Eggsy spits out, furious. “I-” he stops, considering. Harry probably thinks he’s a loon, unable to keep his shit together. He probably thinks a lot of things about Eggsy right now, none of them good. He would definitely not take kindly to Eggsy telling him he saw Roxy alive at Trafalgar Square too, as well as at a fucking Costco’s. Eggsy’s not used to keeping secrets. But it is a sobering realization, right now, looking at Harry’s stern face, that secrets may be all that he has. “You don’t have to suspend me,” he says. “You know, I would quit quietly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry gives a half smile at that, sorrowful. “Is that what you want, Eggsy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy finds he has no answer for that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roxy’s uncle, Alistair Morton who’d operated under the codename of Percival, owned a mansion on the outskirts of Glenfinnan. It’s a rigid old thing, barely standing tall with the sort of gates that creak deafeningly when given a little push, the walls a drab grey with the paint peeling at the ends and the front yard badly taken care of with overgrown weeds and god knows what else. On the second weekend after V-day Roxy nicks the keys off Percival- courtesy of Eggsy’s awesome teaching skills, thank you <em>very </em>much- and the two of them camp out in the mansion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s the best weekend of Eggsy’s life. They’d packed a nice dinner they’d cooked up the day before- an exquisite cheese frittata they’d made themselves- as well as a guitar and a stereo and everything they could possibly need to have a little bit of quiet fun in the tiny village of Glenfinnan. They befriend the locals, and on the way back to the mansion Roxy imitates the deep Highlands burr just to make Eggsy laugh. Eggsy uses the guitar to make awful renditions of classics, butchering Billy Joel horribly although Roxy does her best at convincing him otherwise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Saturday night sees them drunk on the stocks of whiskey they’d found in Percival’s attic, climbing to the precarious, flimsy roof of the mansion, lying down on the bricks and staring up at the sky. It’s unfettered by the unsightly range of trees, the entire expanse of galaxies and balls of gas in full view of anyone who’d like to take a look. It’s the kind of night that makes Eggsy want to bottle it all up in a special little cage, to look at and admire when things get dire.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to say something really dumb,” Roxy says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not like you don’t always,” Eggsy says, and then laughs, dodging Roxy’s shove.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As I was saying,” Roxy says loudly, over Eggsy’s chortles, “I know it’s dumb, but I think- I don’t want to go back. I want this to last forever. Us having fun, being stupid, acting like teenagers again. I want to feel like this all the time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy twists his head to stare at Roxy, who’s still looking up at the sky. She has a forlorn look on her face, the corners of her lips twisted down and her eyelashes almost twinkling against the night sky. “Aw, Rox,” he replies hesitantly, suddenly uneasy with the somber mood that has settled between them both. The whiskey turns in his stomach, almost nauseating. “It’s not dumb.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this what you want?” Roxy asks. She’s still staring at the sky, but Eggsy knows she’s not there, not really. She’s miles away, too far for Eggsy to reach. “Being a spy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a good question. Harry had basically pushed him into it- a career path that was a heck of a good alternative when you compared it to whatever else was there for him. Eggsy had weighed the options of being a spy or a criminal, and had grabbed at spy with both hands. The dust has settled, though, and with it the realities of the job of essentially being a liar and a sneak and a thief. In the aftermath, with Harry gone and Eggsy wading in the dark after being unable to even shoot his dog, he’s forced to wonder about it himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think so,” he chooses to say. “You?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roxy turns on her side, propping her head up on her palm and frowning. “I think I’ve always wanted to be a Kingsman,” she says. “Ever since Uncle Alistair told me about it. I just don’t think I ever want to lose myself to the job, though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would never let you,” Eggsy says confidently. “I’d pull you back. A hundred percent.” Death is a constant danger on the job, Eggsy knows that. But death won’t come for them- they’re Eggsy and Roxy. Galahad and Lancelot. They will last forever- this, Eggsy knows for certain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the way back from the disastrous debrief with Arthur, Mordred catches up with him. Eggsy doesn’t actually bump into any agents on his way out which is a relief- at least when news of his suspension spreads, he won’t be here to watch it settle in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Galahad! Galahad!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy stops in his tracks where he is which is in front of the garage of Kingsman, turning on his heel. It’s Mordred, racing down the running track that’s set aside for Kingsman recruits and overzealous agents to face Eggsy. He waits, expectantly, as Mordred slows to a stop, bracing his hands on his knees and panting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re way too fast,” he says flatly. There’s beads of sweat dotting his forehead and just below his eyes- so blue, Eggsy thinks. He’d ask if Mordred was wearing contacts, except that he’s pretty certain Mordred would rip off his hide for asking. “You know that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Eggsy says, feeling slightly amused. It’s not often he sees Mordred like this- brought sharply to the level of the rest of humanity. “What’s the issue? I thought you were managing Lancelot’s mission, the one about that missing MI6 agent.” He watches as Mordred straightens up again, dusting down the shirt he has on. Usually, Mordred’s clean-shaven but today, there’s a light coating of stubble all the way down his jawline, sharp as glass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I gave it to Laura to handle, he’ll be fine. I just- I had to check with you about the Mumbai mission,” Mordred says, and Eggsy’s smile slides off his face fast as lightning. “I’m not supposed to tell you-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then don’t,” Eggsy says shortly. “I’m on leave.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words take a second to register in Mordred’s head- Eggsy can pin-point the exact moment in time they do, his blue eyes widening to the size of gargantuan saucers. The incredulity in them is a tad hurtful and for a second, Eggsy just considers walking off. “You got <em>suspended?”</em> he exclaims. “But- you’re-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry,” Eggsy says, trying not to let the bitterness leak through, “does not play at favourites.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred gapes at him, and then shakes his head vigorously. “No, I don’t care,” he says sharply. “I was here to- you claim you saw the previous Lancelot, didn’t you? The one who died, in that attack by Poppy everyone refuses to talk about because no one here understands the point of healthy communication.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t just claim I saw her, I <em>know</em> I saw her,” Eggsy says sharply, a bout of irritation growing in him at Mordred’s words. Perfect, he thinks- everyone sees him as the nutter now, the lunatic who sees dead people everywhere including that of his best friend he can’t let go of. First the chav, and then the loon. “I know none of you believe me-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I believe you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-but- what?” Eggsy blinks in disbelief, staring at Mordred who just stares back, defiant. “You what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred coughs slightly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Official footage shows that the target wasn’t talking to anyone, yeah? Harry must have told you that- it shows the target just standing by himself, and then you screaming at him like an idiot, and him running away before there’s a bullet fired. Great work with that, by the way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Eggsy says sardonically, folding his arms. Like Merlin, Mordred also has a masters degree in making Eggsy feel smaller than himself, microscopic and like how he’d first felt stepping into the recruit trial rooms in the mansion. It’s not a pleasant trait to experience in anyone. “Any other insults? I can stand here, let you get it all out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t be a smart arse when I’m the only one standing between you and a possible firing <em>and</em> a reputation of being completely off your goddamn rocker,” Mordred snaps, his eyes flashing. <em>“Listen</em> to me- I watched the footage, and then rewatched it, and then rewatched it. And then I made all my assistants rewatch it. We all came to the same conclusion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus, Mordred, this isn’t a fucking movie,” Eggsy retorts, antsy. His gut is somersaulting at the words pouring out of Mordred’s mouth- the realisation that this isn’t all in his head. That there is, in fact, something to him repeatedly seeing Roxy Morton everywhere like a fucking omen of things to come. “What are you trying to say?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m trying to say, Galahad,” Mordred says, eyes severe, “that the footage has been tampered with. There was a bullet fired at that poor girl. But neither you nor the target had your guns drawn before the bullet was fired. You only started waving it around <em>after </em>the girl was already shot. Someone hacked into the city’s mainframe and removed some key bits of that footage. And anyone who does that would obviously have something to hide- or rather, some<em>one</em> to hide.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The revelation drops between them like a stone. It’s not- vindication, not exactly, but something stirs in Eggsy’s stomach, alive and writhing. And then he remembers what poking into this had gotten him- a suspension, a reputation of being treated as a headcase, Harry’s disdain sinking into him like posion. He sighs, preparing to turn on his heel. “And?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And- what the fuck do you mean, <em>and?”</em> Mordred exclaims, bristling. “I’m telling you there’s something here you need to pursue!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m <em>suspended,</em> Mordred,” Eggsy says heavily. “Find someone else. Foist it off on Lancelot, he’s itching to take missions from me. He’d love it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred reels back, stunned. There’s a shock and a level of fury in his eyes that’s completely unwarranted- if anyone should be furious here, it’s Eggsy for constantly being dealt shitty and shittier cards. <em>“Fuck,”</em> he says, after a while. “You really have changed, haven’t you? You’re not the same agent who took down Poppy and Valentine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I’m fucking not,” Eggsy snaps. “I’m the agent who had to watch his mentor die, who killed half the world’s leaders, and who then watched multiple friends die <em>including </em>your fucking predecessor. In case it hasn’t escaped your notice, Mordred, I’m exhausted.” It’s not just an exhaustion- it’s a bone deep sorrow. He’s lost Roxy- not just lost her to death, but lost her in life too. It’s a loneliness unlike anything he’s ever felt before, tearing at his soul like a sharply honed knife. Death at this point would be a kindness for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred still has that betrayal colouring his eyes, and it almost makes Eggsy’s resolve shake- key word being almost. “Gal- <em>Eggsy,” </em>Mordred says, urgent. It’s strange, Eggsy thinks. Mordred knows his name, but he doesn’t know Mordred’s. It’s just like it had been with Merlin. “It’s your best friend.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not-” Eggsy swallows roughly, thinking of Roxy lying on that roof, beneath the stars. He’d thought they were going to be infinite. How horribly, horribly wrong he’d been. He can’t save Roxy from anything. He’s been playing at being a spy for so long, that he’d forgotten that the charade had to end one day. “I can’t do anything. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turns on his heels and walks away, ignoring Mordred’s shouts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Administrative leave with pay- a polite term for suspension- is, Eggsy finds, a little too challenging to tough out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After years of being an employed man- or more accurately, just three years of what does feel like an age and eternity to him- Eggsy is at a loss on how to occupy himself. There’s only so many times he can pop around to his mum’s, helping Daisy with homework and then aiding Michelle with dinner. Eggsy buys the latest video game for the version of the PS console that he has- and then throws it all on his couch, disgusted at the fact that at twenty five he’s already outgrown the need for playing games completely. He goes out for runs and comes home to a darkened apartment, the lack of memorabilia on the walls mocking him for his listlessness. The TV never has anything actually good on- he fancies himself with watching Game of Thrones where the most gorgeous character actually does resemble Mordred a little, and then becomes horrified when said character meets a grisly death in an episode that absolutely does not send him into a panic attack, remembering the consequences of exploding heads during V day like a brick smacking into his head at full force. Eggsy does not want to investigate what that says about him, that he can’t even watch a fucking HBO series without feeling like he wants to stab out his brain with the sharpest pair of scissors to make the memories stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How terrible,” Jamal says dryly, when Eggsy calls him for help. “You have nothing to do. Bruv, I <em>wish</em> I had nothing to do.” After Poppy, Jamal had finally decided to get back into nursing school; a decision he seems to cherish and regret in equal measures.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cut that shit and tell me,” Eggsy demands. “What do you do on your days off?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stress bake or stress eat,” Jamal answers, a hint of a laugh in his voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dodgy advice it may be, but Eggsy follows it anyway. Three days after the suspension which according to Harry is supposed to last two weeks- no messages or calls from Mordred, which should not make him feel as guilty as it does- finds him making his way to the local store for a necessary grocery run. It’s at night and the streets are secluded, quiet- just the occasional car passing and flashing their lights. It’s slightly chilly and Eggsy shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, wishing he’d bundled up a little more before leaving the house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s just passed Bishop Avenue when, inevitably, he sees Roxy again. She appears like a mirage dressed in all black, hair up in a high ponytail, the figure of her so familiar Eggsy no longer stops in his tracks when he catches sight of her- all thoughts of the grocery run leaving his head, he takes off at a sprint. <em>“Rox!” </em>he shouts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At his scream Roxy doesn’t turn around- instead, she takes off too. She’s fast- faster than she’d been before the attack, Eggsy realizes with a jolt. That had been one of Roxy’s main shortcomings that she’d always used to complain to Eggsy about- where she excelled in pure brute strength and skill, she lacked in speed and agility. It was in direct opposition to Eggsy, which Merlin often remarked on as astounding. “It’s as if she’s making up for you, and you for her,” he’d told him once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The chase continues down the street, past a few ostentatiously placed houses and parks overgrown and unkempt. They come across no one- it’s just Eggsy pushing his burning lungs and hamstrings forward, forward, forward, his limbs screaming for respite as he chases Roxy for what seems like an eternity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then Roxy turns a corner, her silhouette melting into the rows upon rows of lavish houses and apartment complexes, and disappears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Eggsy gasps, bending over double and bracing his hands on his knees. He’d heard Roxy’s feet pound against the pavement, a rhythmic thud. She can’t have just disappeared into thin air- people don’t just vanish. Dead agents who have miraculously appeared again, wiping footages clean do not just vanish. Eggsy feels threadbare, the fraying edges of his mind disintegrating at the mindfuckery of chasing and chasing and chasing after his dead best friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighs, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face as he stands in the middle of the pavement, surrounded on both sides by posh houses belong to London’s most elite. The windows are all dark, giving the area an eerie vibe of stillness. “Just fucking get your groceries, you idiot,” he mutters to himself. He turns around and then chokes on a scream when he feels a knife slide neatly into his side, as if he were made of butter.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Eggsy doesn’t register it. He does not register the hot pain exploding from the gash just below his ribs, wildfire spreading out like a parasitic rash and taking control of all his limbs. He does not register the blood gushing out like a fountain, soaking his shirt and hoodie and the top of his jeans like a water balloon that’s just been popped. He only registers Roxy Morton, holding the knife in his side, her normally beautiful features twisted up in a scowl, dark and unrecognisable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Subject 1446,” she says. Her voice sounds rough and disused, as if she hasn’t used it in a long time. There’s a small tattoo on the side of her neck- an eagle holding an arrow, in a tiny square. “Distraction neutralised.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She withdraws the knife, and Eggsy falls as if he were a light feather, his head slamming into the pavement right in the middle of the rich neighbourhood. <em>That’s going to leave a bruise,</em> he thinks, nonsensically. He continues looking up even while the dark spots gather at the edges of his vision, at Roxy’s dead, brown eyes as she stares at him, pocketing the knife before turning on her heel and walking away.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>It takes an eternity- or maybe seconds, Eggsy can’t really tell- for him to finally gather enough strength to fish his phone out of his pocket, thumb clumsily clicking on contacts. Everything in him is shaking and feels as if it’s been set on the worst sort of fire, and yet he’s freezing, as if he’s been stuck in an ice box. Eggsy is not a Kingsman agent for nothing- he knows he has one hour, maybe two before he dies because of blood loss. He would have welcomed it, one week ago. Now, he fights against the agony and exhaustion that’s crawling up his limbs and gathering at the edges of his soul, searching for Mordred’s number with bloodied fingers dirtying up the screen.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The first call to Mordred goes unanswered. He picks up on the third ring of the second call, sounding aggravated. “I’m still fuckin’ furious at ye,” he snaps, Scottish accent thick like it gets when he’s angry and upset. It’s a little bit funny, Eggsy has to admit- perhaps Kingsman has an inbuilt requirement for every single quartermaster to be Scottish. “Ye lazy, good for nothin’-”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Mordred,” he rasps, and perhaps it’s the weak quality of his voice, the way it comes out thick and choked that makes Mordred shut up abruptly. “Spare me the fucking lecture.”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Wh- why do ye sound like that? Where are ye? Galahad, answer me right no’-”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“She’s wrong,” Eggsy whispers into the phone. The feel of the knife sliding into his stomach still lingers in his brain like a bad aftertaste, as if he’s just chugged a bucketload of absinthe. Roxy had <em>stabbed </em>him- his best friend had stabbed him and attempted to murder him. “Subject 1446- eagle with an arrow- Mordred, she’s all-”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Galahad, you’re not making any fucking sense,” Mordred says sharply, and there’s the sounds of banging, a dog barking- he’s moving around, Eggsy realises. It won’t be of any use-Eggsy’s shivering almost uncontrollably now, his vision half gone. He can’t even tell where he is. He considers telling Mordred to give up on finding him and just save Roxy first. “Where are you? Galahad? <em>Galahad!”</em><em><br/>
</em><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Eggsy lets the phone slip from his stiff fingers, cracking onto the hard pavement. His eyes slip closed, the sight of Roxy’s eyes burnt into the back of his eyelids like an indelible imprint.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fancast time, again</p>
<p>new lancelot/vicky- dev patel<br/>mordred- richard madden<br/>andrew poole- daniel kaluuya<br/>anthony fraser- richard armitage without any facial hair</p>
<p>tw for some descriptions of violence</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the sights to wake up to, Lancelot’s mug has to be the worst.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Eggsy croaks, blinking up at Lancelot who’s glaring down at him, eyes searing with that special brand of contempt he’s got reserved only for him. He stands against a backdrop of a completely unfamiliar room, wallpaper full of what looks like floating ducks and a huge vase of daisies on the bedside table. <em>“’Course</em> I wake up to you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re lucky to wake up at all,” Lancelot tells him, leaning back in the plastic chair he’s seated on with that glare still turned up to ten, as if he thinks Eggsy could set on fire with the force of it if he just tried hard enough. “It’s incredible, Galahad. Even suspended, you still land yourself in deep shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Eggsy snaps. He takes momentary stock of himself, as is customary when waking up in an unfamiliar and strange setting- his head’s swimming and there’s a dull, fiery throb in his side so he decides to take the risk and attempt to sit up. It’s a very ill-fated attempt- he falls back instantly with a shout, the fire intensifying into a hot line of agony and spreading across his side, robbing him of all breath and making him gasp out a foul curse that would have made Harry frown.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stay <em>still,” </em>Lancelot immediately snaps, shoving him back down again with a hand on his shoulder. The hold is firm and tight, preventing Eggsy from doing much but lying limp like a lifeless doll. It’s a sort of helplessness he does not want to experience in front of Lancelot, of all people. “The knife didn’t nick any organs but you lost plenty of blood. You’re lucky I’m a doctor, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy pauses his struggling at that, staring at him. “You are?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Unlike you,” Lancelot says, a smirk playing on his lips, “I actually made something of my life before I came to Kingsman.” The words sting in a rare place Eggsy had thought he’d hidden away and he presses his lips together, avoiding a furious retort to prevent from giving Lancelot the satisfaction he’s managed to properly rankle him. Instead he casts his eyes around, scanning the surroundings- there’s a couch in the far corner, a heap of academic textbooks stacked on it like a particularly shaky tower. Definitely not Lancelot’s house, then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is then that the door opens and Mordred walks in, dressed in a jumper and what looks like jeans he probably slept in. He’s pale and unshaven yet again, hair a ruffled mess and sharp cerulean eyes ringed with circles. The sight makes Eggsy’s heart stutter- what had he missed when he was out? He wasn’t enough to garner that much worry in anyone- something bad must have happened. “You’re awake, good,” Mordred says brusquely, drawing up a chair beside Eggsy and plopping himself in it with a hefty groan. “Tell us what you remember.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You didn’t bring me to Kingsman HQ,” Eggsy says warily, eyes flitting over both Mordred’s and Lancelot’s faces. Lancelot sits back, looking kind of disgruntled as he stares pointedly at Mordred. “No, I didn’t,” Mordred exhales, running a hand through his hair and messing it up even more. “How much do you remember?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got hurt- Roxy stabbed me,” Eggsy says, feeling his eyes widen. The memory of Roxy staring at him with deadened eyes, stabbing him before walking away shoots through his brain like a bullet. Of all the outcomes he had considered, he’d never considered this- getting Roxy back, but not in the way he would have wanted. It’s like a douse of cold water, shocking all his nerves at once. “Oh my fucking god, she <em>stabbed</em> me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“CCTV footage was wiped clean,” Mordred says, arms folded. Eggsy’s head snaps back up as he stares at him in bewilderment. “You’ve been out for about ten hours. I checked the footage this morning. Whoever did it was really good, I can’t trace it back to anyone at all. No digital trail, nothing. It’s as if a ghost is doing all these. Do you remember what you said, on the call?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Eggsy replies, feeling even more confused. In response, all Mordred does is take out the phone, replaying the call. Eggsy listens to his voice stammer over the speaker, weak and raspy in a way that feels startlingly eerie to listen to- <em>“She’s wrong, Subject 1446- eagle with an arrow- Mordred, she’s all-”</em> the call ends abruptly, and Eggsy sucks in a breath sharply.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have <em>no</em> idea,” Mordred hisses, placing his phone back in the inside of his jacket, looking pale with his jaw clenched and tight, “what the fuck it feels like to receive a call like that- hear you <em>die</em> on the phone. Christ, Galahad. It’s as if you’re determined to give everyone a heart attack.” He looks genuinely distressed and Eggsy has to clear his throat a little, nonplussed by the show of worry. Perhaps he’d become so used to being alone in Kingsman, especially in the aftermath of Poppy’s attack, that he’d forgotten somehow that he’s actually made some friends. “Sorry?” he manages, to which Mordred snorts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I panicked,” Mordred continues. “Tracked your signal-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, tracked me- you have me a <em>tracker</em> on me?” Eggsy demands, propping himself up on his elbows and determinedly ignoring the hot flash of pain that sears up his side again. He’s not sure he succeeds, based on how Lancelot twitches, his hand inching forward before he withdraws it again with a defeated sort of look. Eggsy is used to inspiring that feeling in doctors.  “What the fuck, Mordred-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Be glad he did, or you’d have died,” Lancelot snorts, a touch of mirth in his voice. “Me, I wouldn’t have minded so much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lancelot, shut up,” Mordred snaps. “Signal led me to this posh alley of houses and you bleeding out like a stuck pig. I was in a full-blown panic, here, so I brought you to mine and called up Lancelot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy hoists himself up into a seating position- more gently, this time, and waves off Mordred’s gestures of help. He doesn’t want to believe that Roxy’s gone rogue, but stranger things have happened. It’s not out of the realm of possibility and in fact, seems all the more possible when Eggsy considers the now very stark reality of what he and Merlin had done, when they’d made the express decision of flying immediately to Kentucky instead of dropping in and checking on all the Kingsman agents’ locations to make sure if they were really dead. “Jesus,” he exhales. “Roxy’s rogue, then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred hesitates, drumming his fingers on the side desk by the head of Eggsy’s bed. There’s a calculating glint in his eye, the exact one that had made Harry hire him from Scotland Yard. “I wouldn’t say that,” he hedges. “Not exactly. Look- you know Morton. I don’t, but you do. There are records of her in the archives, she was a damn fine agent. Not a single mistake on her missions, best recruit during the Lancelot trials. An agent like that does not go rogue without a very good reason.” His words hang in the air, the dire implications hitting Eggsy like a brick in the stomach. He doesn’t know, suddenly, if he would have preferred Roxy going rogue over this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said an eagle,” Lancelot pipes up from beside him and Eggsy startles, turning around. Lancelot’s hunched forward in his chair, seemingly scrolling through his phone for something with a focused intensity until he’s brightening up and handing it to Eggsy. There’s a pixelated image on the screen, just enough for Eggsy to make out a tattoo. “This is just a guess, but did it look like this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” Eggsy breathes, eyes wide as he takes in the picture, a zoomed in version of the tattoo he remembers seeing on Roxy’s collarbone. “Yes, it’s- how the fuck did you get this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not a traitor if that’s what you’re getting at,” Lancelot says dryly, taking his phone back and ignoring Eggsy’s scoff of <em>I wish</em>. “My latest mission, the one Mordred handed over to Laura while he went chasing after you was about a missing MI6 agent. Well, suffice it to say he isn’t missing anymore- he turned up, had a tattoo like that. He starting shooting at me and made a getaway before I got to him.” His eyebrow twitches as he does so, the only sign betraying the fact that the mission failing obviously gets to him. Eggsy considers needling him about letting the agent go, and then decides against it. There’s a time and place for workplace harassment, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We should tell Arthur, then,” Eggsy says decisively, and then narrows his eyes at the way Mordred avoids his gaze, clearing his throat and scratching at the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner that’s all too familiar. That’s Mordred’s signature move whenever he has an opinion on something he knows no one’s going to like, a classic avoidance technique that clearly cannot work now that they possibly have undead agents on the loose. It’s unfortunate for Eggsy that Mordred’s opinions largely tend to make far more sense than he’d like them to make.  “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, Morton got your location somehow,” Mordred says, biting on his bottom lip in a show of nervousness that makes the back of Eggsy’s neck feel slightly hot. “I checked the timestamps of the footage when it got clearly tampered with- she was <em>waiting </em>for you. She knew where you lived, Galahad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That doesn’t have to mean anything,” Eggsy says weakly, but he knows the fight has been lost. Lancelot’s eerily still next to him, not even breathing in a manner that tells Eggsy all he needs to know about what he thinks of Mordred’s revelation. “She knew about it before-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want to take that chance?” Mordred asks, his eyes huge and dark. The light overhead throws the lines of his face into sharp relief, making him look much older than he actually is. His gaze feels piercing and absolute, making Eggsy sharply inhale with the sudden tension emanating from him. No, he thinks, he’d like to not take that chance. He’d taken it once before and look where that got him- majority of his friends and his boss blown up, just to add on to the laundry list of reasons why he’s way overdue for therapy sessions with Igraine. “We have to pursue this ourselves.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you choose Lancelot to pursue it with?” Eggsy asks skeptically, ignoring Lancelot’s affronted <em>Hey!</em> “We barely get along, you hardly know him, he’s a <em>new recruit-”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like you’re so great yourself, hotshot,” Lancelot snaps, looking a hair’s breadth away from strangling Eggsy right there and then. Eggsy would like to see him try- the nerves beneath his skin itch for a fight, urgent and stormy. “You’re literally <em>suspended </em>and you think I’m the bad agent here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just think-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gentlemen!” Mordred says loudly and when the both of them quiet down, fixes Eggsy with a glare. Eggsy’s so used to them it really doesn’t do anything for him now but he decides to give Mordred a reprieve anyway, shutting up and folding his arms in a show of petulance. “Lancelot’s on this mission because he brought the issue up with me as well. He’s one of the only other agents who don’t believe you’ve lost all your marbles. He came up to me and said there was more to his report for the last mission he didn’t include, and added that we may have to go off the books.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It didn’t make sense, the agent popping up and then escaping again,” Lancelot says, shrugging. “He had extraction ready at the drop of a hat. I got made, and then I got to thinking if there wasn’t more to your loony episode at that Costco’s.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would have thought you would have wanted to jump at the chance to prove me a lunatic,” Eggsy says after a weighty pause. “Get Harry to fire me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lucky for you then, isn’t it,” Lancelot says, his voice containing a note of steel, “that I hate not getting to the bottom of things even more.” He avoids Eggsy’s gaze in a manner that feels purposeful, staring with a little too much intensity at the tattoo on the screen of his phone. Failure is famously Lancelot’s Achilles’ heel, the man having a reputation for wanting every mission to go without a scratch. That is one of the things Eggsy resents him for, too- missions were bound to blow up in your face time to time. That’s an unavoidable fact of life Lancelot treats as unacceptable. Voicing it aloud, though, is not going to get him anything other than an extended verbal argument with both Lancelot and Mordred so he presses his lips tightly together, looking back at Mordred instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So what will it be, then, Galahad?” Mordred asks, eyes flashing. “Stay here a disgraced agent, or do something good with your time off and help us figure out what the fuck’s going on here, exactly?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>According to Kingsman records, the missing MI6 agent goes by the name Andrew Poole, in the service for years and apparently just a few months away from being knighted by the Queen herself. He goes missing while on a mission to save the daughter of a politician from a kidnapping by a terrorist cell in Prague, the only traces of him having been on the mission at all being the corpse of that daughter and the overturned van in the middle of the street. Lancelot replays his last cries for help on his comms back to base, the panic in his words chilling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God,” Eggsy had said, poring over the mission details while Lancelot had been sitting in front of him, nursing a cold cup of black coffee. Lancelot’s always been known to take his coffee in a quality that resembles paint stripper, a fact that establishes himself as a sociopath in Eggsy’s eyes. “That’s terrifying, that is. They found no trace?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it’s as if he disappeared into thin air,” Lancelot says, shrugging. “He turned up months later in a market, and then near one of the estates down south of London, and then again in a club another agent liked to frequent. MI6 turned the case over to us because their boss wanted to conduct an investigation, go after a fallen man but the higher ups wouldn’t let her. This was the only way she knew how.” He looks faintly disgusted himself, as if even thinking about the basics of the mission borders on far too much for him. Eggsy had swallowed, looking down at the monochrome picture of the smiling man, the deep dimples in his cheek as his eyes shine bright even in black and white.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andrew had made a rapid getaway on the day of that ill-fated mission, managing to graze the side of Lancelot’s cheek with a bullet before making a run for it. The license plate of the van, however, had been clear enough for Lancelot to take note of, which Mordred had deciphered as belonging to a a shipping company- Calisto Shipping, to be exact. It therefore falls to Eggsy and Lancelot to do a little recon on the only warehouse they have in London the night after Eggsy wakes up, Mordred having to go back to headquarters to oversee a mission for Bors and to run the tattoo against Kingsman’s specific database for criminals.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s wrong with the Interpol one? Can’t you just use that?” Eggsy had asked, perplexed. He’s pretty sure he’d never hear the end of it, if Harry were to find out courtesy of Mordred getting overzealous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, boyo,” Mordred had chuckled, and left it at that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Seems a little sloppy,” Eggsy points out now to Lancelot as they huddle up behind some bushes on their stomachs, Kingsman grade binoculars perched on their noses. The warehouse is nestled in the countryside; a pristine, white structure that stands out amidst the greenery like a stick in the mud. There’s barbed fencing on all side and armed guards stationed at the exit at all times- frankly overkill for what is supposed to be just an ordinary warehouse meant to store spare goods. It has experienced little activity thus far, not a sign of life save for the guards occasionally making mundane small talk. “You know- letting you see that license plate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You think we’re walking into a trap?” Lancelot asks, non-committal. They have a tentative, shaky truce on their fiery enmity, enforced by a determined Mordred who had expressly informed them that if he had to hear them fight one more time, he was going to rip off both of their heads and stick it on a pike. Mordred always had such a way with words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nah, I don’t think so,” Eggsy hedges. “But it’s just- I mean, this Andrew guy is a pretty decorated agent. Top of the class, some James Bond stuff according to that file you gave me. You think he’d let his license plate of his fucking getaway car be revealed like that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose not,” Lancelot muses. “Morton’s been pretty sloppy too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She has?” Eggsy asks, surprised as the wound in his side gives a little throb at the reminder. Going out on a recon mission right the day after he’d woken up might not have been the best decision to make after all- Lancelot had him on the good stuff, but there’s only so much good painkillers are willing to do. It serves to give all the more reason to think that Roxy hadn’t been sloppy- she’d gotten him pretty good, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She could have stabbed you right in the heart,” Lancelot says, lowering his binoculars and fixing Eggsy with a severe stare that he feels right in the line of fire licking up his sides, not letting go. “She could have made sure you were dead, but she didn’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you’re saying they want to be caught?” Eggsy asks, frowning. What Lancelot is saying unfortunately makes a whole lot of sense, too- Roxy, when in her right mind, was not the sort of agent to be haphazard in her work and leave her enemies breathing. There had been a reason she was the best Kingsman had to offer, making sure her missions were achieved with a deadly and clinical precision Eggsy had been intensely jealous of and Merlin had been full of unending praise of. Roxy, in her right mind, would have killed Eggsy right on that pavement, shot a bullet into his skull for good measure and <em>then</em> walked away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not saying anything,” Lancelot says flatly, picking up his binoculars again. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. It could be anything, really.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy resumes looking through the binoculars again, a peculiar sort of uneasiness in his gut at Lancelot’s words. More than anything, he thinks, it’s the sheer uncertainty with stumbling upon this- before, he’d had Harry or Merlin by his side. Now, though, Merlin’s gone and asking Harry is out of the question. All he has is a rookie agent who doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him and a hacker quite plainly out of his depth. It doesn’t make for good odds, all things considering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?” Eggsy asks, about an hour later. They’ve been ages at this and nothing has happened- Eggsy’s had enough experience with recon missions to know that receiving intel is going to take a hell of a long time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You already did,” Lancelot says, his voice still flat and uninterested, “but carry on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why do you hate me so much?” Eggsy asks casually, feeling Lancelot stiffen up beside him, a veritable plank of wood. Any stiffer, and he’d shatter into pieces and drift away in the wind. “I didn’t do anything to you- unless I hit on you in a bar or something and forgot, in which case I’m sorry, I really am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You didn’t,” Lancelot says harshly, his tone even unfriendlier than before if that had been possible. “Don’t put this all on me- you dislike me too, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t- you know what, forget it,” Eggsy says tiredly. It would probably be better to keep that tentative truce they have going on instead of needling Lancelot further. They’re silent for a while, occasionally shifting in place to prevent their legs from going asleep as they continue to look at workers walk in and out of the warehouse before Lancelot clears his throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t <em>hate </em>you,” he says, sounding defeated. “I just- everything comes to you so easily. I’ve read up on your files, you know. Punched the mirror in, most daring airplane jump in years and therefore making a record that no ones been able to break, didn’t shoot the dog and then managed to save the world from Valentine.” He lists it out with a derisive, slightly beleaguered tone in his voice, as if he were reading off a book he absolutely hated to be reading but couldn’t stop himself from turning the pages.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy lowers the binoculars again, turning his head to stare at Lancelot. Lancelot has his jaw clenched, his hand clenching the binoculars with such a vice-like grip that the knuckles seem pale, almost white at this range. “I don’t have it easy,” he splutters, too shocked to even be annoyed by Lancelot’s view of him. “I deserve my place at Kingsman-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not saying you don’t,” Lancelot says heavily, the cords along his throat tight and betraying how tense he really is to be having this conversation. “You’re a competent agent. Not everyone can take down megalomaniacs like both Valentine and Poppy and then live to tell the tale. You’re a legend in the agency, you know, no matter what you may think otherwise. That’s what I hate most about you- you broke every single rule and tore apart the handbook and you’re all the more better for it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If it is at all possible, Eggsy feels even more confused now. He chooses not to address it, turning back instead to pick up his binoculars. “I never know what I’m doing, half the time,” Eggsy says into the bushes. “That piss you off, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have no idea,” Lancelot grunts. There’s a weird sort of relief tinting his voice, as if he’s been unburdened by telling Eggsy about the reason why he’s been acting like he’d stab a voodoo doll of Eggsy twenty times over. Makes sense, Eggsy thinks- there is a strange release in telling people exactly what you thought of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I go by Eggsy,” Eggsy says, playing with the settings on the binocular again. “Actually, it’s Gary but I like Eggsy- point is, you can call me that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Lancelot says, sounding slightly sheepish. There’s a lengthy pause during which Eggsy thinks Lancelot has just decided to ignore the gesture of goodwill before he says suddenly, “My name’s Vikash, but I prefer Vicky.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cute,” Eggsy replies, grinning. And then the grin slides off his face when he’s peering through the binoculars again, adjusting the settings to zoom in. A black sedan has pulled up by the side of the warehouse and at Lancelot’s inhale and the familiar license plate, Eggsy recognizes it to be the one Andrew had escaped in. A man exits the vehicle- tall, with black hair slicked back while dressed in a suit that’s so perfectly tailored it puts even Harry’s ones to shame. Eggsy adjusts the settings to take a quick picture, staring as Roxy exits the vehicle too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We should…” Eggsy says weakly, staring as Roxy follows the man into the warehouse, the doors closing shut behind them. He didn’t know what he’d expected- but certainly not this, Roxy in the grips of someone who clearly meant her harm and had probably already done her harm. Before he can finish his sentence, though, Vicky tugs harshly on his arm, gesturing for him to move, his eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eggsy, no- it’s just recon,” he says urgently. “Come on. We’ll come for her later, I promise you we will- but today’s not the time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maddeningly enough he’s talking sense. Eggsy swallows and follows Vicky back into their getaway vehicle, one of the nondescript taxi cabs from Kingsman’s garage that’s been parked on the opposite side of the road. They had been crouching at the foot of a hill covered in a forest and now they crest back up the hill, Eggsy deep in thoughts of how the hell he was going to save Roxy. They’re halfway up when Eggsy hears it- a crack that sounds like the give of a branch beneath a foot, and then another crack. “Vicky,” he hisses. “Stop.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s testament to his seniority- or Vicky just feeling fearful enough to start listening to anybody- that he stops instantly, standing still. They wait for three seconds before Eggsy blows out a breath, relieved. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Think I was just paranoid-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A bullet slams into the tree trunk beside Eggsy and then he’s yelling, <em>“Run!”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chases on foot look glamorous in movies- the actors hardly look tired out, it’s fast paced and thrilling and there’s a whole artistic sense of style to it that makes you want to be part of the chase, feel the energy and the thrill and the sheer adventure of it all. It’s less so in real life, as Eggsy had found out the hard way- it’s just oxford shoes scuffing their soles in the dark, the beat of Eggsy’s heart against his chest deafeningly loud while the stab wound in his side throbs painfully in time to each slam of his feet against the grass, the shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins being the only thing keeping his legs moving. He pulls his gun out of his holster, twisting his torso with his head bent at an awkward angle to avoid the constant barrage of bullets, and aims a shot at one of the dark shapes moving from between the trees behind them. There’s the solid <em>thump! </em>of a body hitting the floor and Eggsy grins in satisfaction, knowing the bullet had met its mark.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You brought your fucking <em>gun?”</em> Vicky shrieks, as they continue running uphill. Eggsy turns back twice more to fire off two more bullets that inevitably hit their mark, the rustle of bodies rolling down the hill following soon after. Eggsy hadn’t been a top sniper in back in the Marines for nothing, after all.<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>“Of course,” Eggsy pants as they finally burst onto the road, the stomp of feet behind them reminding them that the chase isn’t over yet. He dashes to the cab, Vicky a split second behind him as he throws himself into the driver’s seat. Vicky’s pale, his hands opening the dashboard compartment to reveal a stashed glock. “Didn’t you?”<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>“No, I left it in the cab because it’s a fucking recon mission!”<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>“Word of advice, Vicky,” Eggsy pants as he makes a mental note to inform Harry that the recruits definitely need more training on preparing for recon missions whilst starting the cab, the tell-tale signs of two more cars heading his way from behind sounding rather like a police siren, “always, <em>always</em> bring a gun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a weekday night so the roads are basically empty save for a few stragglers that swerve out of the way once Eggsy comes barrelling through, their drivers screaming bloody murder. He turns sharply onto a lane that’s completely empty, cursing as he catches the sight of both cars making the sharp turn and still tailing him in the rearview mirror. As he continues to drive erratically, wincing at the constant stream of bullets hitting the back and sides of the car he catches sight of Vicky, for some reason, <em>opening </em>the car door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck- <em>are you insane?” </em>Eggsy screams, before he lets out another ungainly scream at the window next to his face promptly shattering courtesy of a well-aimed bullet. Shards of glass fall onto his lap, another shard slicing his cheek open- they’ll have to ditch the cab, probably at an abandoned impound lot. “Get back <em>inside</em>, you fucking lunatic!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vicky, very obviously not listening to him, bends his body over the seat at a ninety-degree angle and stretches his arm out, firing four quick shots in rapid succession. He twists back up again, panting roughly and slamming the car door shut. There’s a pause that lasts about three seconds before the sounds of a crash that’s probably gonna deafen the entire neighbourhood follow soon after. Eggsy sidles to a stop, stunned, staggering out of the car and looking across the road. It’s empty, save for the magnificent sight of the two cars that had been chasing them lying overturned, their tires shot through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy can practically feel the smugness emanating from the man standing next to him. “You’re lucky the road was empty,” he sighs, raising a hand to wipe at the blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. He considers walking over and pulling the gunmen out of the vehicles, getting their identities out of them when there’s another explosion and both cars instantly catch on fire. Vicky stops breathing next to him and Eggsy looks on, jaw falling open as the yellow and orange flames reach high into the sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy whistles. “How much firepower did that fucking glock hold?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was a normal glock, not even Kingsman grade,” Vicky says, sounding mystified. “All I did was blow out their tires. They shouldn’t have exploded like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A self-destructive mechanism, then. Eggsy’s stomach turns as he stares at the carnage, the bodies probably charred to ash within. He looks to his side to see Vicky staring at the fire too with a distant, tortured look in his eyes, a cut on his eyebrow bleeding so much that it’s now a thick stream of blood gathered over his eyelid and congealed alongside his nose. “Let’s get out of here,” he decides to say instead. “You look like a fucking nightmare and half.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*Top of Form</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred orders in Thai that night, stacking the boxes on the table and getting the cutlery out from his kitchen while Vicky tends to Eggsy’s stab wound and the cuts on his cheek. He really is an expert doctor, changing the stitches with an uncharacteristically gentle touch that not even Morgana over at Kingsman HQ can hope to have, a distant look on his face. Eggsy doesn’t know if it’s the result of the carnage they’d caused back on the road or the conversation they’d had behind the bushes but it makes a sliver of unease shift around in Eggsy’s gut as he watches Vicky bend over the stitches on his stomach, working in complete, eerie silence. “Look at us,” Mordred shouts from the kitchen suddenly, making both of them jump, “a family!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred had agreed with Eggsy on his theory of the cars self-destructing themselves. “Whoever they are, they know we’re on their tail,” he says, turning the glock over in his hands with an introspective look in his eyes- startlingly blue, Eggsy can’t help realizing- while Vicky had enlisted Eggsy’s help to attend to the cut on his eyebrow. “They must really not want us getting our hands on any information at all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Self-destructing their own cars? Seems a little overkill, don’t you think?” Vicky had said weakly, directing Eggsy with his hands on where to cut the butterfly strip off. It had taken the entire car ride back for Vicky’s hands to stop shaking- the unintended explosion had really unnerved him, for some reason. Eggsy doesn’t want to investigate what it says about him, that all the sight of that carnage had done was make him feel a weary sort of resignation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They don’t work like Kingsman does. They have to do whatever is necessary to protect their operations,” Mordred says simply, shrugging. “Tells us something too, doesn’t it? These people have a fuckton of backing, if they can just destroy their own shite willy nilly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whilst they dig into their steamed rice and basil chicken, Mordred enlarges the picture of the man on his laptop, balancing chopsticks between his fingers on his other hand. The tattoo of the eagle had brought up nothing, he’d told them earlier- neither had the term Subject 1446, although that had been a long shot either way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got nothing,” Mordred announces after a lengthy pause of just squinting at the screen. “He’s completely unfamiliar to me- gonna have to run him against the Kingsman database.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But that’s at-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nah, this is my computer from Kingsman HQ,” Mordred cuts in easily, his fingers flying at breakneck speed over the keys while he spoons chicken into his mouth. “We’re not actually allowed to bring it home, but ‘s not like Harry’s keeping track.” He looks up and eyeing the both of them, continues, “You were both lucky to get out alive. What part of <em>strictly a recon </em>did either of you refuse to get?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We didn’t <em>want </em>to lead them on a wild goose chase across half of fucking London!” Eggsy protests, as Vicky nods vigorously from beside him. “Trust me, that was the opposite of what we wanted.” His stomach churns, remembering Roxy exiting the vehicle behind the man, the itch beneath his skin telling him to go after her and get his best friend back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had no idea how they even knew we were there,” Vicky argues as well, stabbing at his food viciously with his fork. “They have the parameter surrounded, I guess. Or maybe Eggsy was just too loud with his banging around.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course you’d say that,” Eggsy gripes, irritable at the implication that he’d do something to set them off. “Maybe <em>you </em>attracted them, shifting around so much I thought you needed to take a piss.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you trying to say-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gentlemen!” Mordred snaps, and the sharp rebuke makes both of them fall silent, staring contritely at their plates of half-eaten dinner. Mordred glares at the both of them, fierce enough to make Eggsy feel like his face is on fire. “It’s like you’re both five.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Vicky says after a pause. “That was- immature of me, I apologise. I’m just on edge, I don’t like being caught off guard.” He scratches at the butterfly bandage stitching up a cut on his cheek as he says it, his expression abashed. <em>Everything about this is catching me off guard,</em> he doesn’t say but the unsaid words ring loud as a bell, felt by every single person in the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry too,” Eggsy says, finding that he’s actually genuine. After all, he knows what it’s like to experience that heavy feeling of uncertainty, as if every step was about to be a misstep. “We’re all a little on edge.” The corner of Vicky’s mouth curls as if he’s about to say something nasty again and make Eggsy retort equally nastily. Before he can do so, though, there’s a loud ping from Mordred’s laptop and he’s scrambling, jabbing at a few keys before making a triumphant noise and turning it around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anthony Fraser,” Mordred explains, pointing at the detailed profile on the screen. “Londoner aged forty, prominent boss of a defense contractor who was illegally supplying arms to the Middle East, and incidentally, was embezzling off his own company too. He went underground for a bit because we blew his operations wide open a few years ago.” Fraser’s face, casually and yet cruelly handsome blinks up at them, mouth twisted in a wide slash of a smile. Even in the photo he looks like a smarmy, two-faced business tycoon, dressed in a sleek black suit with his hair slicked back like a bad James Bond villain. <br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>“So he’s resurfaced,” Eggsy wonders out loud, scanning the details on the screen. An MIT business drop-out, troubled childhood and multiple accusations of aggravated assault against his person by various people- it wasn’t exactly a nice picture by any means. “Real piece of work, isn’t he?” <br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>Mordred nods, looking disgusted. “Pissing people off was a pastime of his, apparently,” he says scornfully, the low opinion he’s holding of Fraser evident in his voice. “I can reach my contacts in the underground, try to suss out when he’d resurfaced exactly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have contacts in the criminal network?” Vicky asks, a touch of amusement in his voice. In response, all Mordred does is flick a bit of the condensation from his can of mountain dew at him, Vicky yelping and trying to dodge the water droplets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is troubling,” Mordred continues, his eyes dark and worried, “that one of the people we put away has come up again, wrecking havoc like this and having a Kingsman agent in his employ. An MI6 one, too- it doesn’t look good at all, for us or for whatever the fuck he has planned.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy stays quiet, the cogs on his brain turning as he looks at the still, pixelated image of Fraser on the screen, slate grey eyes smirking at him. Like clockwork, Roxy pops back into his head again- that split second of her leaving the vehicle, dressed in the likes of a suit even Kingsman wouldn’t have given her, a hair’s breadth behind Fraser. “Kingsman defeated him once before,” he says wonderingly. “Didn’t put him away, but still brought him to his knees.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Correct,” Vicky confirms. “I can check the archives again but pretty sure it had been the previous Bors, with Merlin managing the mission. We can’t- well, we can’t approach them for information, now.” There’s a split second of silence that hangs in the air after this particular proclamation, an extremely awkward one as both Vicky and Mordred do their best to avoid eye contact with a suddenly stiff Eggsy. Months after Poppy, and everyone still treats it like a subject to be skirted around at all costs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” Eggsy continues determinedly, ignoring the pang that goes through his heart, rough and robbing him of all breath at the thought of Merlin, “you’d think a guy like that would try to do his best to avoid all contact with us again. And yet, here he is, having a <em>Kingsman </em>agent and someone from fuckin’ MI6- a guy who was a month away from getting actually fucking knighted, no less- in his employ and personal guard like he’s the fucking Queen. He’s either got massive balls, or something huge up his sleeve.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a silence that falls after his words- this one full of the implications that had been in Eggsy’s words. Mordred’s eyes have turned dark again, a stormy blue as his jaw visibly tenses. Vicky pushes his plate away, looking queasy. The fear in the air is tangible, something Eggsy’s pretty sure he’s going to be able to taste if he sticks his tongue out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We have to bring in Arthur,” Vicky says suddenly, staring at the both of them. He brushes the curls out of his eyes, taking on a wild look as he gestures with his hands in the air. “Listen, this has gone on long enough but it’s clear we can’t do this on our own. We need help- <em>official </em>Kingsman help.” Before he’s finished, though, Mordred’s already shaking his head with a stubborn look on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No can do, Lancelot,” he says tightly, raising a hand to stall him when Vicky opens his mouth, furious. “I don’t like this anymore than you do but Morton had been <em>waiting </em>for Eggsy. We can’t take that risk. I know I can trust everyone in this room but beyond that- I’m not sure. And until then, I don’t think we can approach Arthur.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to risk the security of Kingsman for anything,” Eggsy says quietly, remembering the mechanical arm in the cab- how Merlin had pinpointed that as the main point of access where all their details had been leaked. That had been his fault and that will be something he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life. He’s going to put himself through hell before ever willingly going through something like that again- risking the lives of his friends, being the one to sign off on their death certificates. There must be something in his expression that shows some of that, because it makes Vicky close his mouth mid-protest, nodding solemnly instead. “We’ll do this ourselves.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We better have a plan, then,” Vicky says tiredly, scrubbing a hand his face and catching his nail on the butterfly strip. “A good one, preferably one that does not get us killed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll dig up the old case files and we’ll come up with something by tomorrow,” Mordred says, spinning the laptop back around, typing away with a speed that reminds Eggsy startlingly of Merlin. His fringe falls into his forehead as he does so, stray jet-black strands that Eggsy feels the strange, unwelcome urge to brush away. He swallows roughly, scratching at the new stitches on his stab wound for a second or so before turning to his food. Best to leave that train of thought well alone, especially now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have we looked into Calisto shipping?” Eggsy asks suddenly, and when both Mordred and Vicky shake their heads, grins at them. “I’ll do the research, then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re going to do this,” Mordred says, his lips pressed together in a firm and decisive line, a look of defiance in his eyes. “We’re going to bring Fraser down on our own, and get Morton back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The conviction in his voice is so strong that Eggsy almost believes him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>some notes:</p>
<p>i thought i'd clarify what vicky feels about eggsy, exactly- he just thinks that eggsy's risen through the ranks very rapidly for someone who didn't do stuff by the books. of course we know that eggsy deserves his place at kingsman but thus far, that hasn't been proven to vicky yet- but it will be soon. this is a very rapid update for me because i've been writing like a madman since i've had nothing better to do with my days, so hopefully i can keep this up for the next few updates. also, this fic has received a very poor reception (at least compared to my other works) so i did consider taking this down but i've decided not to since i actually do love writing this. that being said, please please give me comments and/or kudoses. they mean the world to me and i love seeing what people think of my fic, i promise even the slightest comment of ':)' is going to be enough to make my day</p>
<p>as always you can catch me on tumblr over @ himbotaron</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fancast time! </p>
<p>lancelot/vicky- dev patel<br/>mordred- richard madden<br/>anthony fraser- richard armitage<br/>bella fraser- amy adams<br/>max perry- darren criss (specifically andrew cunanan) </p>
<p>tw for mentions of prostitution, predatory behaviour and sexual harrassment</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The aftermath of missions, recon or otherwise, always leaves Eggsy feeling all kinds of keyed up and restless. He can’t rest without working off the excess energy, and sometimes even then the excess energy doesn’t leave him, building up like the sort of grime that sticks to you after a particularly brutal workout. The aftermath of doing recon at Calisto shipping and barely escaping with his life intact is no different, and after a measly five hours of fitful sleep Eggsy finds himself awake again, wearing a hole into Mordred’s carpet of the spare bedroom he’d been placed in. The floating ducks seem to mock him from the bedroom walls, obscenely yellow and bright. After about ten minutes of consternation, walking until his soles throb and glaring at the ducks intermittently, Eggsy decides to make his way down to the kitchen to make himself a hot cup of cocoa.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it is five in the morning so he doesn’t expect to see anyone awake. It’s therefore definitely a shock to find Mordred in the living room, perfectly awake and hunched over his laptop. Eggsy pauses on the landing after he’s finished descending the steps, staring in bewilderment as Mordred looks up, presumably at the sound of his footsteps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why aren’t you asleep?” Mordred demands, brushing his fringe out of the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could ask you the same,” Eggsy counters, making his way to the kitchen and inspecting the drawers. Thankfully Mordred seems to have a tin fully stocked on cocoa powder and a carton of milk so he takes them out. In fact the whole kitchen seems a little too well stocked- he should have guessed that Mordred would be the kind of weirdo to live solely on takeout even with food rotting away in his house. “I’m making hot cocoa, want some?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, sure,” Mordred says heavily. He doesn’t look all that tired for someone who’s up early at five am in the morning, eyes bright and a youthful shine to his face. “I <em>was</em> sleeping, by the way. Woke up an hour ago. What’s your excuse?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy decides to ignore his question, stirring the powder into the two mugs of milk. He doesn’t think Mordrd would understand, anyway, the weird not-adrenaline rush that comes after missions, especially after ones where nothing goes as planned. “What’s that you’re doing?” he asks instead, jerking his head towards the laptop in front of Mordred. From the flinty eyed look on Mordred’s face, he knows his avoidance hasn’t gone unnoticed.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bella Fraser has abysmal security, I hacked her call records within a minute,” Mordred replies instead, sounding disgruntled at the lack of a challenge. “Decided to pick up where you left off last night and find out where Calisto shipping fits in with all this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy puts the mugs of cocoa in the oven and sets it to heat for a minute, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. There’s only a single lamp that’s been turned on, right by the couch which Mordred is huddled on as he works on his laptop. He’d somehow found the time to shave off his stubble, the clean arc of his jaw for some reason making Eggsy yearn for that five o’clock shadow he’s gotten slightly used to. He looks younger even if Eggsy knows full well he’s exactly five years and two months older than him, the college sweatshirt he’s got on hanging off him in a way that makes Eggsy press his lips to try and avoid a grin. He and Mordred aren’t close friends, not by a long shot and definitely not like how he and Merlin used to be but Mordred’s also the only one in Kingsman who’d listen to him over the comms whenever he’d bitched about the Kingsman suits getting too restrictive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You could go to sleep,” Eggsy suggests.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t like sleeping,” Mordred says brusquely, running a hand through his hair as he scans his screen, obviously reading down an article. The light of the laptop screen makes the blue of his eyes shine even brighter, luminous in the dark of the room. “Sleep is for the weak.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy snorts at the repose. “Merlin was like that too,” he says softly, remembering. “Refused to go to sleep for days on end. Roxy and I used to bully him into sleeping for those first few days.” Merlin had been an anxiety ridden nightmare during those nightmarish weeks post V-day, co-ordinating missions and filling in for the role of Arthur until they could find one, fielding calls from sponsors and strengthening recruit trials protocols after four Kingsman agents had been discovered with their heads blown off as well. It had all come to a head when Merlin had collapsed into a fatigue-induced faint halfway through one of his briefings for the new Arthur, coffee falling out of his hands and crashing into the floor and sending everyone into a panic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck, he thinks. He <em>fucking </em>misses Merlin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The oven pings and he jumps, startled out of his reverie. He goes to get the mugs of cocoa out and heads out of the kitchen with them to see Mordred staring at him, stiff and a look of shock in his eyes. “Something on my face?” he quips, handing the cocoa to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no,” Mordred says hastily. “It’s just- you never talk about him, you know. My, uh,” he flails his hands around to somehow gesture the word <em>predecessor </em>and then lets his hands drop, his voice fading into silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve never asked,” Eggsy says defensively. Everyone is well aware of Merlin’s legacy- everyone current, anyway. The awareness, though, is more by hearsay than anything else owing to the fact that the two people alive who knew him most were also, incidentally, the two who refused to talk about him at all. Harry had never been the type to make small talk- after Poppy, even less so. And Eggsy? Eggsy has the weight of Merlin’s death and the ghost of his last words both pressing in on his heart and lungs and liver and brain like a hefty paperweight, reminding him of the blood staining his hands like a scar. Eggsy has just never liked talking about one of his best friends whose death he’d helped cause- but he’d never realized the effect it would have on those who had come into Kingsman after him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking at Mordred now, bent over the laptop as if he’s studiously avoiding eye contact with him, Eggsy suddenly wonders how it’s like for their current quartermaster to have Merlin’s shadow hang over him, his imprint never quite letting go. Maybe he feels the pressure or maybe he feels unburdened by it- Eggsy wouldn’t know. They’re not close, after all. He’s been pretty successful at keeping colleagues at a profession distance away from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I sure hope you don’t make not-sleeping a habit,” he chooses to say instead, plopping down on the couch beside Mordred and hoisting his feet on the coffee table, ignoring Mordred’s protest of <em>hey, feet off the table! </em>“We sorta need our quartermaster healthy and awake.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been running on three hours’ worth of sleep daily since my Scotland Yard days, thanks so very much,” Mordred scoffs, gaze fixed on the screen as he brings the mug to his lips. There’s a tiny glint of something in his eyes- appreciation, maybe- that makes Eggsy feel warm, smile as he looks at the swirling cocoa in his own mug. “How’s the wound?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Healing,” Eggsy says, taking a sip of the cocoa. In actual fact the wound, aggravated by the recon mission has grown slightly swollen and inflamed, hurting on and off while Eggsy had slept. He decides not to mention it, reluctant to go back on painkillers so soon especially since the particularly strong ones Vicky had prescribed made him drowsy. If Mordred thought sleep was for the weak, Eggsy’s very much of the opinion that admitting weakness is for the weak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred looks at him askance, eyebrows arched in a look of skepticism. “You know, if you’re feeling any pain-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Eggsy replies quickly. “Really, I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We can’t have our best agent falling over because he got sliced open, you know,” Mordred says, grinning. The foam of the cocoa has made a moustache on his lips, making him look very ridiculous indeed. It’s a bit of a strange sight, seeing Mordred in such informal conditions. He turns back to the laptop, occasionally sipping from the mug as Eggsy’s thoughts turn inward, fretting over Roxy as he does so nearly on constant these days. There’s a pause of companiable silence and Eggsy’s drunk half the hot cocoa before Mordred’s suddenly stiffening, setting the mug down as he clicks what looks like an article from BBC.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it?” Eggsy asks, frowning and craning his neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Check this out,” Mordred breathes, turning the laptop slightly and showing the article to Eggsy. The thumbnail of a beautiful blonde woman stares back at Eggsy, eyes glazed over in a frozen smile- Melissa Friedman, twenty with a zest for life as the caption proudly proclaims. “A former worker at Calisto shipping was fired and a week later, found dead of a drug overdose in her bed by her roommate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s suspicious,” Eggsy says slowly, scanning the article- the usual fluff of <em>ruled out foul play </em>and <em>everyone at Calisto grieves their loss- </em>“but what significance does it have for us, exactly?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred taps the words that denote the worker’s time of death as the fifth of June, 2015. “Because Anthony Fraser, according to my contacts-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your very legal and morally upright contacts,” Eggsy says, grinning as Mordred shoves at him playfully, a laugh escaping him almost seemingly against his will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-according to my <em>very reliable</em> contacts, resurfaced exactly one month ago- the first of May, 2015.” The glint in Mordred’s eyes are triumphant. The conclusions he’s arrived at are obvious, as the cogs in Eggsy’s own brain turn. “It has to be related. This wasn’t a drug overdose, it was a murder. According to this article, the day before she died Melissa Friedman tweeted a threat to whistleblow Calisto shipping- release a bunch of illegal items they were shipping. Said they were of- a human trafficking nature. After her deaths, all investigations into Calisto shipping were miraculously shut down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy continues to scroll down the article, taking in the details. Mordred’s nearly bouncing beside him in excitement, eager at their breakthrough. It <em>is </em>a breakthrough, after all, but there’s a tiny cynical part of Eggsy’s brain- born after Poppy- that tells him <em>hold on, slow down. </em>“I’d hate to pop your bubble,” Eggsy says, “but this is all circumstantial. You need a stronger link between this murder and Fraser than just dates and Fraser popping up at a Calisto warehouse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred’s not upset by Eggsy’s interjection- he seems even more excited and determined, if that had been possible. “Of course, Sherlock,” Mordred says distractedly, backing out of the page and seemingly typing in more keywords into the search engine, clicking on and then backing out of websites with a speed that leaves Eggsy feeling slightly dizzy, “but I can feel that there’s a link here. I just need to- dig deeper.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You do that,” Eggsy says, drinking more of the cocoa and deciding not to tell Mordred that he thinks the link between Friedman and Fraser is absolutely non-existent. Maybe Mordred will prove him wrong- it won’t be the first time. “What do we have on Bella Fraser?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got her call records, she’ll be at that pub down by Piccadilly to meet a friend, Max Perry- a chemist who used to work with her husband,” Mordred says. “I’m going to need you to get a tracker on her- schmooze up to her and get it on her so that we can listen in on her conversations and figure out where she’s going to be. It’s not a great start, but it’s something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A honeypot, brilliant,” Eggsy says glumly. Honeypots make him think of Smith street, his skin crawling as he thinks of scabbed knees and the inside of his mouth, sour with the taste of frankly abhorrent fluids. It also, incidentally, makes him think of Poppy- of Charlie’s girlfriend in that abhorrent little tent in Glastonbury, Tilde’s look of disappointment wounding him through the screen of his phone, the betrayal he’d felt at the slight bit of relief coursing through his veins when she’d hung up on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can pass it off to Lancelot if you’d like,” Mordred adds gently. Eggsy doesn’t know if Mordred’s seen everything from his file but the implication that he has makes him feel cold, a little abashed of his past. No one wants <em>whore</em> on their resume, after all- especially not Eggsy.  “She’s been making some calls to a blocked number too so we know she’s been in contact with Fraser. Nothing significant yet, but it’s something.” He hesitates, a slight pause before saying, “Again, it’s not a lot, but it’s a start.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“At least we have a lead,” Eggsy says, finishing off his cocoa and setting the mug down. “My suspension’s for a month, we have plenty of time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t keep putting things off for a month and continue working missions from home, Arthur’s bound to get suspicious. Same with Vicky- it’s worse for him, he’s still an active agent on downtime,” Mordred argues as he continues reading another article about Melissa Friedman. Eggsy stiffens up, the implications hitting him- they had a deadline to get Roxy back. He’d never fully registered it before but he does now, the unavoidable fact that each second passing them by is a second wasted. At the silence from Eggsy Mordred looks up suddenly, and reaches over to squeeze Eggsy’s wrist. “Hey, I’m not giving up. I’m just saying- we have to work this fast.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, I know,” Eggsy says helplessly, thinking yet again of Roxy in the clutches of a man who smiles like he’s got something to unleash on the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If it’s any consolation,” Mordred says, returning to his laptop, “I think it’s swell that you and Lancelot are getting along so well. You two would butt heads at Kingsman so often Arthur’s taken to calling you both Cain and Abel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re not getting along well,” Eggsy scoffs, thinking of their tiff after the car chase on the road, Lancelot’s look of contempt as he’d said Eggsy had probably attracted the gunmen by being too loud. Hell would freeze over, he thinks, before they even begin to be civil to each other- even with a truce between them now. “We’re just- in a mutual agreement of sorts now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Interesting,” Mordred says in the kind of tone that means he doesn’t really care at all. “Hopefully you two keep the mutual agreement from letting you get into anymore fights because I’m gonna be honest with you, your fights drive me up the wall.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>The Black Field</em> is packed when they arrive, packed like sardines with dancing twenty-somethings and people who’ve just gotten off work, drunken chatter and laughter filling the air like the backing vocals to the beat they’ve got going on. There’s a devil-may-care sort of revelry permeating the ambience of the club, the music by the DJ the kind of groove Eggsy would usually love to lose himself in. He finds an opening anyway, tapping his foot in time to the rhythm only to stop at Mordred’s searing glare boring holes into the sides of his skull. “We’re here for <em>work,</em> Galahad,” he says pointedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You <em>can </em>call me Eggsy, you know,” Eggsy says, amused. “Even Vicky calls me that.” At the glare intensifying, he rolls his eyes and says, “Lancelot. Happy now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very,” Mordred says, setting up his laptop and getting to work in the meagre light of the club. He looks ridiculous, underdressed in just a brown jacket and jeans, toiling away at a computer in the middle of a club full of scantily clad people rubbing against each other, the sensual beat getting their blood thumping. They attract a few suspicious looks, not enough for it to be suspicious but certainly enough to make Eggsy shift in his seat uneasily, sending a few glares of his own back. “We only use code names in the field for a reason.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I still call you Mordred out of the field, though,” Eggsy points out. “Don’t I get the honour of knowing your actual name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Mordred says, pauses, and then adds, “Eggsy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vicky, in direct contrast to them, is decked out in a shimmery black button down that he’s very ungraciously and with no small amount of wheedling allowed Eggsy to unbutton halfway down his chest, dark blue jeans hugging his legs in the most flattering way possible and dark brown Timberlands finishing off the whole look. He’d slapped away every single hair product Eggsy had tried to shove his way, choosing instead to let his curls lie naturally in a casual manner which Eggsy grudgingly admits does work for him, in the boy-next-door kinda way. He’s just barely visible at the bar, seated two seats away from Bella Fraser who’s talking to Max Perry, a young and good looking chap around the same age as Eggsy, dressed smartly in a navy blue shirt and trousers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure this is going to work?” Eggsy whispers, staring as Lancelot swills his drink around, not making a move. Bella Fraser throws her head back and laughs, auburn and grey locks tumbling down her shoulder. “What if-”</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Relax,”</em> Mordred drawls, squeezing his wrist in a manner that makes Eggsy think it’s an attempt at comforting. “Have faith in me, will you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The plan concocted by Mordred is as follows- the bartender, courtesy of a very hefty bribe by Mordred, will pass the drink Max Perry has ordered to Lancelot- a single shot of Bourbon, which is Perry’s regular at the Black Field. Vicky will drop a few drops of Rohypnol into the drink and the bartender will then give it to Max Perry who will imbibe it and then dash for the loo under the guise of feeling unwell, leaving an opportunity for Lancelot to come in and flirt with Bella Fraser. In the process of their conversation which Eggsy privately thinks would probably fail to work considering Vicky’s abysmal test scores during his NLP training at the recruit trials, he’ll place the tracker on Bella Fraser’s person.. An overly complicated plan, that Eggsy wouldn’t normally have gone for if he’d had any alternatives.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I <em>could </em>just slap the tracker on her back,” Vicky had offered weakly when Mordred had stopped and stared at them expectantly, undoubtedly waiting for praise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t,” Mordred says swiftly, raising an eyebrow. “Because Eggsy is going to help us make contact with Max Perry too, and steal his phone from him. The only connection between Max and Bella is Anthony Fraser, and that’s a connection that I want to look into.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Didn’t the call records say why they were meeting?” Eggsy asks but Mordred’s already shaking his head. “Nothing, they were just negotiating back and forth on when to meet up. When Max heads into the loo <em>you, </em>Eggsy, need to head inside and steal his phone. I’ll be disabling the surveillance so he’ll never know who stole it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’ll remember my face,” Eggsy says warily. “Won’t he?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred regards him serenely. “You’re a master of using the sleight of hand,” he says, making Eggsy stiffen. God but he sure resents Harry for making the archives on every single agent’s record public.  “Just make sure he never finds out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At best it’s a shaky plan, too many variables left unaccounted for and not enough contingencies. Eggsy’s used to entering the field with an eighty percent amount of certainty he’ll manage to pull it off- he’s definitely not used to entering the field as a seasoned agent knowing everything that can go wrong will definitely go wrong. It’s as if he’s back to being the Eggsy who had first entered Valentine’s lair under the guise of Chester King, slapping on a veneer full of the confidence he does not feel an iota of within himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There he goes,” Mordred suddenly whispers, and Eggsy’s brought back to the present again. “The bartender is on the move.” Sure enough, the portly and bearded man is handing Max Perry the drink, spiked with Rohypnol. As the two of them watch- Vicky turned to the front, toying with his own shot glass- Perry takes a sip of the glass and just half a second later, stands up unceremoniously, shrugging off a hand by a concerned Bella Fraser and heading right in the direction of the loo- exactly like clockwork.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Looks like I’m up,” Eggsy whispers, and slides out of the booth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a struggle and a half to press through the teeming crowd, pushing people apart and at least a few teenagers to get to the toilets that are in clear view. By the time he’s reached he’s definitely covered in an inch of body glitter, the stuff feeling sticky on his skin like an extra layer of congealed sweat. His comms link crackles and Vicky’s voice patches through, saying, “I’ve got the tracker on her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Excellent work, Lancelot!” Mordred enthuses over the link as Eggsy exhales slightly, a burden lifting off his chest. “If you want to stay with her-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I think I’m terrible at this,” Vicky says ruefully as there’s the scrape of a chair over the comms, followed by the sound of Vicky’s quiet footsteps. “Good luck, Galahad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Eggsy breathes, before pushing the door to the loo open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The toilets are pretty spacious, white tiled floors and sinks. Surprisingly enough Max Perry is still upright, washing his hands at the sink with his head bent low. Nonplussed at the change in arrangements- Eggsy had expected Perry to be huddled on the floor, knocked out- he passes Perry by on the way to the urinals, deftly lifting his phone out of his back pocket and placing it in the inside of his jacket. Nicking things is a work of art, something he’d mastered in the estates when Dean would staunchly refuse to tak care of them and therefore force Eggsy to resort to lifting wallets to get him and his mom by. It takes an absurd amount of concentration, keeping his fingers light and making sure his breathing is controlled and not a giveaway. When your concentration is honed in on a single spot everything else falls away- and that is what Eggsy blames for being taken aback when Perry manages to take a vice like grip of his arm, pushing him against the sink and crowding him against it with both arms on either side of him. The whole move happens in a matter of seconds and Eggsy feels his back hit the granite of the sink with a detached sort of panic, staring down at Perry with his lips parted. Perry’s slightly shorter than him but holds himself as if he were a whole head taller, a sneer playing on his lips that’s the ugliest thing Eggsy’s ever seen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Galahad?” Mordred asks over the link, voice concerned. “Galahad, do you have the phone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Saw you looking at me earlier,” Perry says, in an accent that’s clearly American. His lips are tilted in that same, cruel sneer, his eyes cold in a way that reminds Eggsy, very suddenly, of Charlie Hesketh. “Across the bar.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perry should not be talking like this- like he’s perfectly alright, like he’s not been drugged at all. Had the drink not worked? Had the bartender screwed them over? He <em>told </em>Mordred that bribery was never an effective form of persuasion. “You’ve had one too many drinks, mate,” Eggsy laughs it off instead, hoping the undercurrent of panic doesn’t show through, and hears Mordred bite out a truly foul curse over the comms. “I ain’t never seen you before in my life.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perry grins widely. “Ordered that bourbon just for show, like I always do,” he says, raising an eyebrow which he probably supposes makes him look effortlessly handsome. In another situation, Eggsy knows he’d probably think so- but right here and right now all he feels is blood rushing through his ears, his brain whirring to find a means through which to just reasonably escape. “Don’t play coy with me, darling.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right,” Eggsy says, trying to make his voice as cautious as possible, still attempting to not give away the undercurrent of panic that he’s been unsuccessful at tamping out within. He can’t just up and leave now, not when Perry’s bound to realise that he’d been the one to steal his phone when he’ll inevitably check his pockets. He’d usually amnesia dart Perry- like he should have done the second he entered the loo, fuck- but with Perry’s arms on either side of him and boxing him in, he can’t move a single muscle. He leans away further against the sink, feeling the long line of Perry against him- every single fucking inch including, apparently, how hard Perry has become by just talking to him. Are all Americans like this?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?” Perry says, grinning even wider as he lifts a hand and traces Eggsy’s jaw with it. His fingers are smooth and chilly, making goosebumps rise in their wake. Eggsy bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. He’s never liked being talked down to, like a chav only good for what he can offer in bed and nothing else. He’d had enough of that on Smith Street. “Why not you bend over the sink and show me a good time, hm?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he’d thought he’d be able to leave his Smith Street days in the past. Every muscle and limb in his body feels frozen stiff, unmoving. The panic won’t let go of his veins, leaving him staring blankly at Perry who smiles blithely back, hand moving down his neck and lying on his collarbone in a manner that makes Eggsy feel his touch sink in no matter how much he wants otherwise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eggsy,” Mordred says urgently, “<em>Don’t. </em>I’m coming in-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Me too- I’ll amnesia dart the fucker,” Vicky says sharply, the sound of pattering footsteps echoing over the comms link.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“No,” </em>Eggsy snaps and when Perry jerks in front of him, eyes widening in clear shock at the rejection, clears his throat. “No, I’m- I have a partner,” he says, more gently. “I’m sorry, but-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The smile slides off Perry’s face and in its wake, something decidedly more sinister arises. It lands like a shock of cold water, chilling him to the core. Of all the various possible outcomes, he’d never expected <em>this</em> to happen. “You seem to be mistaken,” Perry says slowly, measuredly, each word hitting like a bullet. “I wasn’t as-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right on cue the doors to the loo open and a group of men rush in, talking loudly. One of them bumps into Perry, shoving him away from Eggsy with a candid and slurred “Whoops, sorry mate!” In the melee of Perry cursing viciously and the gaggle of men swearing at him back, Eggsy ducks out of his grasp and escapes through the door, the sound of it closing behind him far more beautiful than it has any right to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stumbles through the crowd, Perry’s phone an obtrusive weight in the pocket of his jacket and makes a beeline for the booth. When he reaches it, Vicky and Mordred are already both on their feet, the laptop cradled carefully in Mordred’s hands. They’re both pale, clearly on the move as if they’d been on their way over to Eggsy. “Galahad,” Mordred gasps, sympathy in his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let’s move, come on,” Eggsy says curtly. He falls into silence and does not speak a single word as they all crowd into the car and make their way back to Mordred’s place. He does not speak a single word as Vicky slides into the driver’s seat, Mordred booting open his laptop yet again and exclaiming over the transmissions coming from the tracker placed on Bella Fraser’s person. He does not speak a single word as he hands the phone over to Mordred to turn over in his hands, inspecting it before announcing that he’ll be able to hack it in no time at all. He does not speak a single word as Vicky accidentally knocks over a trash can while parallel parking, Mordred acerbically telling him that he’s never seen more abysmal parking from anyone in his life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they enter the house, Mordred pulls on his arm, yanking him back. “Hey,” Mordred whispers. “Are you alright?” At this close of a proximity, his blue eyes are intense, a deep oceanic colour that reminds Eggsy of the one time his mother had taken him to the beach when he’d been a kid, let him splash around in the shallow part of the waves. Mordred’s about half a head taller than him and it’s a welcome change from Perry, the difference in height making Eggsy feel a strange sort of relief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How much of that did you hear?” Eggsy decides to ask instead. He’s relieved to find his voice come out strong, unwavering and confident. Accidents happen on missions. He can’t let himself curl up into a ball because of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred winces, an embarrassed look entering his eyes. “Everything,” he says, and a cold block of ice drops into the pit of Eggsy’s stomach. “Look, if you need someone to talk to-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy tugs his arm out of Mordred’s grasp, ignoring his hurt look. “I’m perfectly peachy,” he says curtly. “I apologise for the mission not going as planned.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Eggsy, that’s not-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy turns on his heel and walks up the front steps, ignoring Mordred calling after him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vicky ends up taking a call that makes him go back to his own house in Churchill estate, saying that his sister needs his help with a shifty look on his face. “She’s kind of- not feeling well,” Vicky explains, shrugging his jacket on and his hands shaking in a manner that makes Eggsy frown. “I have to be there for her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re not going to begrudge you that,” Mordred says gently. “Go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me know if something- <em>anything</em>- comes up,” Vicky says sharply, fixing both of them with a fierce glare. “I mean it.” None of them bring up the elephant in the room- that Vicky can’t play at this façade forever, can’t come running at their every beck and call when he’s still an active agent under Kingsman. Despite Mordred’s reason for not doing so, the timeline on how long they can go for without telling Harry anything about the case has a fast expiring deadline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither Max Perry nor Bella Fraser must lead very active lives because absolutely nothing comes up anytime soon and at the eleven pm mark, belly full from cheap takeout for the second day in a row, Eggsy decides he needs to take a break. As Mordred hunches over the laptop and the stolen phone, he announces that he’s off for a walk, snatching his wallet in case he feels peckish on the way there. “Be careful,” Mordred says unflinchingly, not looking up from his laptop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I always am,” Eggsy says flippantly, tightening the drawstrings of his hoodie. At Mordred’s look he sighs and amends, “I’ll make sure I’m not followed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s all I ask,” Mordred murmurs, distracted as he swipes left on something on his phone, the sounds of something that sounds suspiciously like indie rock coming through on his headphones. Eggsy’s about to leave him to it, when Mordred clears his throat again. “Eggsy? About the mission today-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about it?” Eggsy says sharply. If he sees that blasted sympathy in Mordred’s eyes again, he will absolutely brain his head on the wall. “It was a success. I got you the fucking phone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred palms the side of his face, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. When he does speak his voice is hoarse, cracked and weary from the lack of sleep. “It wasn’t a success,” Mordred says heavily. “<em>I</em> put you in danger, and I shouldn’t have done that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had a handle on it,” Eggsy says shortly, taking a further step away from Mordred and towards the door. The way Mordred looks at him right now, like he’s full of guilt and regret as if it had been him who’d made a mistake and not Eggsy, makes him want to run and never come back. “It’s my job to see the mission through. And I saw it through, didn’t I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, but you didn’t have to-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“With all due respect, Mordred,” Eggsy says quietly, “if this is about the arrests for solicitation on my criminal record, kindly shut the fuck up.” His words seem to strike a chord within Mordred and he does shut up, pressing his lips together and staring back at Eggsy, his eyes wide as if he’s at a complete loss of what to say. For a man who’s always so well-organised, put together at even the roughest of times, seeing him this speechless makes something within Eggsy ache. He always did know how to shake things up, make people do the things they’d never do otherwise. Dean had been particularly fond of telling him that.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gonna take my leave now,” Eggsy says awkwardly. He turns on his heel, not waiting for an answer- Mordred doesn’t give him one, anyway, and he can’t figure out if he’s pleased or upset with that- and manages to shut the door gently behind him on his way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a pleasant night out, a gentle breeze caressing his face as cars occasionally zip by on the street. Eggsy shoves his hands into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a bit before he heads down the pavement in a slow walk. He’s really not letting the wound at his side heal at all, and it shows now when he’s attempting to stroll at a leisurely pace down the pavement- it is a living, writhing thing, breathing fire up into his lungs and causing him to pant slightly. The conversation with Mordred is a menace, turning over and over in his head until he does his best to lock it inside a box and shut it out. There’s no use crying over what’s already happened. People like them dealt best with things happening to them by doing their best to forget them. Effective in the short run, and who even cared about the long run when in a job like theirs?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred really shouldn’t give that much of a shit, he thinks sourly, stomping his feet a little into the cracks on the pavement. As someone who was in Scotland Yard, he should have known better than to dwell on mistakes made and catastrophes avoided. He should be more like Eggsy- hardened and almost trigger-happy in his willingness to compartmentalize trauma.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thoughts like these are always unpleasant and he attempts to turn his train of thought to something more of a neutral ground. He knows where he’s headed, at any rate. It’s technically a ten minute walk from Mordred’s place but feels like it’s been stretched into half an hour when he finally reaches the gates of the local cemetery- located in the posher side of North London, secluded and dark at the end of  a long and winding street. It’s been properly kept, the gate newly painted and gleaming in the meagre light. He pushes it open and treks through the dead leaves, the wet and muddy soil and the spare sticks and rocks, until he arrives at the gravestone marked <em>Hamish MacDougall, 1963-2020. </em>Eggsy had remembered thinking that Merlin never did look like a Hamish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they’d had Merlin’s funeral- well attended, surprisingly, for a man who claimed to keep to himself- Harry had informed Eggsy that the grave had actually been kept empty. “His remains are in a grave on the grounds of his family estate in Scotland,” he had said, blithely unaware of how Eggsy had stared at him in part shock and part horror. After the fight with Whiskey, all Eggsy faintly remembers is stumbling to the Statesman mandated plane before descending into a panic attack that had lasted fifteen minutes. “He hated London. Hated the smog, the rush, how absolutely no one gave a fuck about you.” He’d had a faraway, misty look in his eyes as he said so, jaw tense and a slight tremble in his hands that he’d tried to hide. He’d probably fooled everyone else at the funeral with how well put together he was, but not Eggsy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why two graves?” Eggsy had asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For me,” Harry had said, and Eggsy had once again jerked in surprise. “He always wanted to be buried in Scotland- and I can’t ignore his wishes. But I need him here too, here with me.” It had been a secret made public news, the fact that Harry and Merlin were in fact lovers of at least a considerable few decades. It had certainly explained several things- Merlin keeping that framed photograph of Harry’s on his desk at headquarters, Harry and Merlin’s closeness during Eggsy’s recruit trials, little bits and pieces of stray memories of seeing them together that didn’t make sense until the knowledge came out into the open. The change is subtle, but Harry might as well have died with Merlin- he becomes a hardened shell of himself, calculating and cold. A fat lot of good building that grave in London did Harry too- he’s never visited it, even when every single other person in Merlin’s tech department and Eggsy has.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy looks down at the grave now, the innocuous carvings and the stone grey of it. A blank, boring grave which he thinks Merlin would have rather approved of. “I still feel stupid talking to an empty grave, you know,” he tells the stone. “You shoulda stayed in London. What the fuck’s so good about fucking Scotland, anyway?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The stone stays silent, as it has every single other time Eggsy’s come to see it. Merlin’s headstone surrounded by so many graves somehow just feels wrong. Eggsy had always figured that Merlin would never kick it- and if he ever did, probably have a huge shrine of gold built to him, or maybe a hologram of himself follow Eggsy around at headquarters, screaming orders at him from beyond the grave. He’d just never prepared himself for the utter absence of Merlin from his life, an eventuality he never could have foreseen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t tell you what we’re working on, because saying that shit out loud is gonna be real dumb of me,” he tells the headstone frankly. “It’s been fucking me up, though. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m not-” he swallows, staring at the dirt beneath his feet. “I don’t have <em>you. </em>I never thought it would be this hard, not having you ‘round shouting your head off at me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night is utterly silent, the leaves on the floor fluttering slightly in the wind. Eggsy swallows again, feeling something hot prick his eyes. “I’m not even- it’s not like I’m even affected by that arsewipe,” he explains further, waving his hands about. “It’s just- how are we gonna know we’re on the right track? Have we hit the wall, and we just dunno it yet?” The next question is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back just barely. <em>Am I gonna ever get my best friend back?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mordred’s good,” Eggsy continues saying. “He’s really fucking good, Merlin, you should see him. I just don’t know if he’s as good as you. <em>I</em> don’t know if I’m as good with him and Vicky as I’d been with you and Harry.” And there it is, the fierce ache in his chest explained- nothing can match what he’d felt that day in Poppyland with Harry and Merlin, the sense of purpose he’d felt walking into war with the both of them. The three of them had shared a rare sort of camaraderie, a special energy that he knows he can’t feel with anyone else. Or ever again, as a matter of fact, with one of them dead and the other one might as well being dead anyway, impenetrable like a fortress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy sighs heavily, scratching the back of his neck. “Just wanted to- touch base with you, anyway. Needed to-” he hears a rustle, then, the sound like footsteps and his heart jumping particularly fast, he ducks his head to pretend that he’s busy. No one’s likely to start a conversation in a cemetery anyway, but honestly you never know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rustling passes him by, heading forward and Eggsy lifts his head back up again, confident that he’s not going to get inappropriately talked to. The sight in front of him causes his jaw to fall open, staring so hard he feels his temple begin to throb. If he’s not wrong- and he hardly ever is because his eyesight’s damn near perfect- the man standing a few rows of headstones in front of him is none other than Anthony Fraser himself, decked out yet again in a sharp blue suit. He has his head bent forward, not speaking at all as he stands in total silence. Eggsy takes a moment to look within himself and ask if he’s really going to be the sort of person to creep on someone who’s clearly in mourning before making an express decision. He slowly steps to the side, being careful to be as quiet as possible until he’s behind a large tree next to the last gravestone in the row, pressing his front against the trunk of it and watching Fraser.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he looks on, Fraser appears to straighten up from his hunched position at the headstone he’d been stood in front of, before suddenly reaching out with his leg and kicking the stone down. What’s even more surprising than the kick is the fact that the stone actually goes down, falling flat on its back on the soil with a soft thud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fraser turns on his heel and Eggsy instantly presses his back against the trunk of the tree, hardly breathing or moving  a muscle until he hears Fraser’s footsteps echo across the cemetery, crunch into the leaves before there is the tell-tale creak of the gates of the cemetery opening and then closing. Eggsy counts to a hundred inside his head before ducking out from behind the tree, moving with light and careful steps to the fallen gravestone. Once he’s there he stops and stares down in shock, the name in carving popping out to him in clear, etched letters. <em>Ally Fraser, 2006-2015. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy’s phone rings, then, and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden ringtone. He notes that the call is from Mordred as he picks it up. “Hullo.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come back,” Mordred says. “Found some interesting stuff about Max Perry. You might want in on this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright,” Eggsy says, his heart pounding as he takes in the fallen gravestone. He wants to lift it and press it back into place, upright and tall, but somehow he doesn’t feel like it’s his place to do so. “I got some things to tell you too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course you do,” Mordred says, a humorous inflection in his voice, and then hesitates. “Eggsy- about earlier-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eggsy represses the urge to heave a put-upon sigh. “Jesus, Mordred-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m trying so hard to be Merlin,” Mordred says abruptly, and Eggsy closes his mouth, a frisson of shock going through him. “I haven’t even met him, and I still- anyway, I’m not. Not Merlin, that is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Eggsy says softly. “Believe me, I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you?” Mordred asks, his voice sharp like a dagger designed to cut at the edges of Eggsy’s soul, before the line goes dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>updates will take slightly longer now bc i've got my uni finals in two weeks spread entirely over next month. this fic will probably take 5-10 chapters, depending on how long i want to stretch it for. also i promise i do not hate darren criss by fancasting him in max perry i just needed a villain and unfortunately or fortunately someone suggested darren criss. darren criss im sorry i think ur an icon. if eggsy's reactions seem a little weird or ooc in this a la the bitchiness and non-reaction its because once again, this is a jaded eggsy im writing- a very different person from the eggsy in my other fics. anyway hope everyone's liking it so far and i promise that harry's gonna make a comeback within the next two chapters!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you all loved that! as a result of doing a deep dive and deleting almost all my socials, I have literally nothing to do other than study or write this, so the next chapter will probably be out next week (if not, I'll update on my tumblr)</p>
<p>initially, this was intended to be just a single chaptered story. as you can see, just like all my other multichaptered fics i had planned as oneshots, this did not pan out. i have yet to decide if this is going to be a multi chaptered story or a series of fics detailing how eggsy goes about his business saving roxy, so stay tuned on this space as well as on tumblr i guess. very unhappy with how this summary is phrased as well, so i might change that later im a finicky person. also shoot me an ask if you want on tumblr, i'm @ himbotaron and im terribly lonely on there</p></blockquote></div></div>
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